One Night with a Cowboy (Paint River Ranch) (Entangled Indulgence) (17 page)

“You should,” he growled.

Sophie’s breath came out in little pants. “I don’t want to. I don’t want to go anywhere.”
I’ll stay with you. Just ask me to.

“Forget what I said Sophie. I don’t want you here—I don’t need you here.” Behind the pang his words gave her, Sophie called bullshit. She forced herself to call him on it, though she was feeling anything but brave.

“Liar.”

“God fucking dammit!” Tucker cupped the back of her head and kissed her fiercely, his tongue doing sweet war with hers and claiming dominance. He leaned his back against the beam and hitched one leg slightly forward. With rough hands, he pulled her onto him so she straddled his waist. Inch after inch of flesh bared to the warm air as her skirt rode high around her thighs. Tucker owned her with one hand at the small of her back, the other at the base of her neck, and his lips on hers. And then he hitched her up a little more until her knees hit the beam and her sex rubbed against the waist of his jeans. Sudden and intense pleasure ripped through her as the rough denim of his jeans, and the cotton of her panties rubbed against her center.

Tucker’s lips dipped to her neck. “You smell so damn good.” He nuzzled the curve of her neck and nipped little tugs of flesh with his teeth. Exhaling deeply, Tucker moved his hips just a little, causing his trapped erection to rub against the center of her panties. Sophie shouted, one hand gripping his shoulder like she might fall. She had no idea how he was holding her up and moving like that without falling over. His hips thrust gently forward again, streaking a long draw of friction straight against her clit. Sparks danced behind her eyes.

“Tucker!” Her hands took on a frenzy of their own as she pulled his shirt from the tight waist of his jeans. Then he was kissing her again and moving his hips harder this time, giving unrelenting little rocks back and forth while one hand held her firmly against him. Pleasure hit her with a dizzying blow. Trying to hold back, wanting to hold back, Sophie arched her hips, intending to move away, but Tucker held her tight, grinding the hard length of his erection against her. Sparks returned in a full-on display of color and intensity as she settled over him.

Sophie slid her hands under Tucker’s shirt. Warm, supple skin blanketed with soft hair covered hard mounds and ridges of muscle. She’d never really seen him naked, never really touched him and the craving to do both almost overwhelmed the pleasure fog in her brain. Living to thwart her, Tucker grabbed her hands and pulled them away.

He nipped her earlobe. “I could be buried so deep inside you right now.” Tucker jetted his hips forward. Sensation ripped through her, sending her to the edge. She tried to slide her hands up his chest, kneading his soft flesh, the other itching to release his zipper and free him. Tucker stopped her hands with one of his.

“Let me touch you,” she begged. Tucker moved her hands back down. Sophie curled her fingers as if her nails against his skin would slow down the loss of contact. “I want to touch you.” She leaned her forehead into his shoulder when his cock rubbed against her fast, once, twice, three times. “Please…Tucker, please!” she didn’t know what she was begging for anymore.

“You’re so damn wet. I can feel it through my jeans.” Tucker groaned and moved in steady rhythm. Sophie grabbed his shoulders, hung on as her orgasm built fast and hard. He arched his back and rubbed against her almost violently, pulling her down so the friction caused pleasure-pain that catapulted her into full-blown release. Sophie screamed against the bare curve of his neck, pressing against him as hard and as closely as possible. The jerky movements of Tucker’s breathing caused ripples through her pelvis that milked the pleasure until she was completely drained.

Tucker’s arms trembled as he lowered her. Sophie leaned in to kiss him as her fingers let loose the button and zipper on his jeans. Not waiting, not giving him a chance to react, she gripped his cock in one hand and opened the fly of his jeans as far as it would go. Bastard wouldn’t let her touch him so now she’d leave him defenseless.

…

Her hand on his cock felt incredible, but he wanted to be buried inside Sophie’s hot body more than anything. And he wanted it right now. She stroked him with a soft, slow glide and he allowed the pleasure to creep from his balls to his scalp. Closing his eyes for just a second, Tucker reached to pull her hand away. But Sophie dropped to her knees before he could react. Startled, Tucker looked down at the same time she took his dick in her mouth.

“Fuck!” His fingers found her hair on instinct, winding in it and holding her closer while his heart screamed that he pull her away. No touching, it was too intimate. This was firmly included in that rule. Sophie’s slick mouth took him in, her lips stretching around his width, a deep groan of satisfaction rumbling against the tip as she took all of him. His dick hit the back of her throat. Tucker bit his lower lip with the force of the pleasure. Stupid, stupid rule.

Sophie’s teeth scraped him lightly as she pulled back, sending shocks of electricity into his thighs. “God, do it again.” She did. Again and again, until the pressure built and hovered on the brink of explosion. His entire body was on fire. He wanted to…he shouldn’t…not like this.

Tucker pulled back on her hair at the same time he helplessly thrust into her mouth. “Sophie!” his voice was desperate for her to pull back, desperate for her to continue. She gripped his hips firmly in response, pulling him in and sliding back, only to pull him in again.

Then she clamped down with her palate, curving her tongue firmly under his cock as she slid him out in a long, tight stroke. Little sounds of suction accompanied her soft little moans of pleasure. He gripped her hair tight and pushed back in, the wet slide of her tongue pushing him over. He came hard and she took it all, holding him like this is exactly what she wanted.

He leaned his head back against the beam. Blood rushed in his ears, the room spun mercilessly. Fingers of pleasure raced up and down his flesh, pulling every nerve into an ecstasy-fueled mind trip. His right arm ached. Looking over, Tucker realized he’d grabbed a hold of the end of the rope and it looped several times around his wrist. Sophie’s body slid along the length of his and Tucker wrapped her in his arm, his chin lolling over to rest on the top of her head as he freed himself. Her face burrowed into his neck as she gripped his ribs and held him back.

For a moment, the panic and anger he’d been holding inside passed. For just a second, everything felt normal. Sophie in his arms. His body filled with pleasure from connecting with the person who was just right for him. His other half. Tucker tipped her chin and looked down into Sophie’s face. Her expression of contentment and soft satisfaction robbed his momentary peace away. She shouldn’t be looking at him like that, and he shouldn’t have allowed what just happened.

She was already too close to his heart. But he’d proven to himself last night why he couldn’t ask her to stay. He’d completely lost the grip on his anger, let it control him, consume him. Warranted or not, that wasn’t the man he wanted to be. That wasn’t the kind of man Sophie deserved. Closing his eyes to break the visual of her beautiful face, Tucker set Sophie away from him and righted his jeans.

“Tell me” she said. Sophie smoothed the front of her dress. He didn’t miss how her hands shook. Tucker looked away from her waist, pretended to be adjusting his belt.

“What?”

She reached for him. “Tell me that you feel something for me.” The words were heavy and raw. Tucker’s chest clenched hard. Last night pushed him over the edge—immersed him in his own fears of never being good enough for Sophie. Jesus, he’d never expected to be here, in the position to love or push it away again. He could tell her the truth or he could do the right thing, and set her free.

“I don’t. You’re a nice girl, Sophie.” A nice girl who had him completely. But he couldn’t have it. “But this has gone too far.” Sunlight rippled between them, highlighting the confusion and hurt in Sophie’s eyes. She blinked softly, her brow furrowed as if sorting out what he’d said. It took all of Tucker’s strength not to start ripping the hay loft apart.

“Bastard,” she uttered, before spinning away from him. She didn’t turn away quickly enough though. He’d seen the shimmer of tears. Tucker’s hands fell to his sides, his voice a whisper he didn’t intend for her to hear.

“I know.”

Sophie paused for a heartbeat, and he knew she’d heart him before she kept on walking. Her head disappeared below the floor as she descended the ladder. Tucker leaned against the beam, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers, fighting the urge to follow his heart.

Chapter Nineteen

Sophie walked past Carla with a paper grocery bag in each arm, ignoring the shocked expression on her sister’s face. When Carla called, asking her to come over to discuss “matters,” Sophie figured she’d force Carla into a baking lesson.

“She never taught me how to make pie.” She dropped the bags onto the kitchen counter. Carla came up behind her, arms crossed. Sophie began taking items from the bags, shoving them where ever she could find room on the marble countertop. “I don’t even know if he likes apple or peach or blueberry, so I…I just got it all.”

“What are you doing?” Carla barked. “I just cleaned my kitchen!”

Sophie threw her a look over a shoulder. “Apparently you can’t just put flour and milk and eggs into a bowl and mix it all up and get pie crust.” Her voice grew thick. “No, no, there’s a
technique
, according to this cookbook I read in the checkout line. Did you know there’s a
technique
?” Sophie didn’t even know why she was worried about it. Seriously, making pie for a man who’d basically given her the old “screw and toss” was ridiculous.

Carla’s voice softened. “Honey, there isn’t milk or eggs in pie crust.”

“Well I suppose I would know that if she ever taught us how to fucking cook! Right?” Sophie slammed a container of eggs down. A fierce cracking sound exploded on impact. “I mean, all I want to do is make the man a…a pie and it’s not like I can go to Mom and just ask her how to do it…”

Carla’s soft touch on her arm made Sophie freeze. Her sister’s face held a tenderness Sophie didn’t know Carla was capable of. “Sophie, what’s this about?”

Sophie rooted her eyes into Carla’s, unable to move save for the tears that rolled hot and wet down her cheeks. She felt them burn and moisten her skin, pooling into the neckline of her shirt, but she didn’t care. Carla’s breathing increased, her fingers tightening over Sophie’s arm. Everything felt numb, from her lower lip to her ankles—her muscles weak and suddenly useless as she slid down against the lower cabinets until her butt hit the floor with a thud.

What was this about? Maybe as a good-bye gesture for Tucker. Maybe as a way to prove to him that she could be more than a city girl and make a damn pie. When she’d woken up with her emotions throbbing, her hands needed something to do to keep her heart from breaking, and apple, peach, or strawberry was the first thing that came to mind. And this was one of those times when a woman needed her mother, to explain how to handle an ornery man with his heels dug in the wrong direction, how to stop her heart from hurting so bad.

Her voice trembled, thick with tears. “I just…I need her.”

“Oh, Sophie, honey.” Carla squatted down, both hands gripping Sophie’s arm.

Sophie shook her head as pounding disequilibrium rocketed through her. She was far away-far, far away. “I’m in love with him and I just want to make him a pie. And I need her, Carla. I need her to tell me what to do.” And then Carla’s arms were around her, holding her in a sisterly embrace Sophie couldn’t begin to register. She stared at the base of Carla’s stainless steel refrigerator, noting a crayon peeked out from under the grate and a small dust bunny huddled off to one side.

“I
need
her.” Her voice repeated, though it sounded distant and detached. Like her mother would be if she raced to her bedside and pleaded for her to come back to them, to be the mother she wasn’t nearly ready to let go of. Sophie leaned into Carla, grabbing her sleeve with one hand like she could hang on and make the pain inside go away.

Carla pulled back just a little. “Who are you in love with?”

“What?” Sophie sniffed. Suddenly realizing she was actually hugging her
sister
, Sophie leaned back and covered her mouth with the back of her hand. Carla wiped at her eyes and rocked on her heels.

“You said, ‘I’m in love with him.’ So, who is it? And when did you meet someone since you’ve been here?”

“I did not.”

“Yes, you did. Wait…the cowboy from the carnival?” Carla’s eyes went huge with a twinkle. “Him?”

Sophie shook her head, feeling some of the dread inside her lift. Yeah, it was him all right. “Just a guy who likes pie.”

Carla rose with a sigh. “You really want to learn how to make pie?”

“Yeah.” Because her time at the ranch was coming to an end, and she didn’t want to leave things like this between her and Tucker. It was silly, but a pie would be a good parting gesture.

Carla reached into a high cupboard and pulled out two wine glasses. After a moment’s consideration, she pulled a bottle of sweet Moscato from the wine rack. “Fine, but you clean the mess,” Carla grabbed a wine corker and shook it in Sophie’s direction. “And you don’t say a word about how many glasses of wine it takes me to put up with you. Deal?”

“Only if you have another bottle so I can do the same.”

Carla huffed with a smile, popped the bottle, and poured. Then she sat on the floor next to Sophie and handed her a glass. The sipped in silence as Sophie struggled to get the last bit of her emotions under control.

“You know, I always saw Mom as mine. Then you came along, little Miss Perfect, never doing anything wrong, and I saw how she looked at you—how proud she was of her perfect daughter.” Carla stared blankly at the refrigerator. “It was hard living in your shadow, Sophie.”

Sophie set her wine glass down with a clink on the flagstone floor. “I know.”

“When she got hurt, the responsibility of her care fell completely on me. At least, that’s how it felt, but it’s not true.” Their eyes met and a fresh sob bubbled in Sophie’s chest. She snaked a hand to Carla’s and gripped it tight.

“I’m proud of you, Sophie, for how hard you’ve worked to help provide for Mom. And I know you’re in a state of transition right now, but honey, just go with it. Okay? Things might just work out.” Carla held up a finger to indicate a moment, stood, and grabbed something off the counter. She sat again, handing a slip of paper to Sophie. She read it, and then read it again, a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh-sob that worked its way up. It was an advertisement from a dance academy in Missoula, looking for two full-time instructors. “The woman who owns it works at Roger’s firm. I may have told her about you.” Carla shot Sophie a look, with a self-satisfied smile.

Sophie was speechless. Nothing would have come out right at that point. With a wink, Carla grabbed another wine bottle from the counter and shoved it at Sophie.

“So, carnival cowboy…”

Sophie wiped at her eyes and set the wine bottle between her thighs. “Yeah, he…we, it’s over. Nothing to talk about there.” Right? Because talking about Tucker wasn’t going to take back what he’d said yesterday, or the rock in her gut, or the way she loved him so completely despite it all.

“I’m assuming you’re having sex with him?”

“Incredible sex,” Sophie uttered, then snorted a laugh as she took a sip. TMI. Carla shook her head.

“If you were to take the
incredible
sex away, would you still want him?”

Sophie didn’t even have to think about the answer to that. She’d take Tucker anyway she could have him. His laugh, his crooked smirk. The irritating toothpick. How he made her laugh and the way he held her hand and protected her from man-eating squirrels. She’d take it all.

“God, yes.”

“Then I’d say that’s as close to love as you can get.” Carla nodded to prove her point and Sophie drained her wine glass. They sat in silence again, eyeballing the amazing amount of dust bunnies under the refrigerator. “Before we start destroying my beautiful kitchen, I need to tell you.” Carla popped the top on the second wine bottle. “The convalescent center received a generous donation. Sophie, Mom’s entire medical bill was paid.”

…

Tucker walked into the training arena to find Jim Gilfoyle holding a set of blueprints and staring at the ceiling. He turned as Tucker’s boots crunched over the sand floor and grinned like he’d been expecting him.

“Tucker, what do you think about the peak on these prints compared to the way this building is done?” Jim let one side of the prints fall as he pointed to the skylights. Tucker had come in to look for a pair of nippers he’d set down earlier, not to discuss construction plans. He was so tore up inside and pissed off at himself that nothing seemed right. The world was off its fucking center.

“Don’t matter much.” He kept on walking.

“Tucker,” Jim’s voice was light, but firm. “How long have we known each other?” Tucker stopped but didn’t look back and he didn’t answer. The sound of rustling paper told him Jim was rolling the prints. He set his shoulders. There wasn’t a single ounce in his body that wanted to have a conversation with Jim Gilfoyle right now. He loved Jim, more than he’d loved his own father, likely, but for some reason, being next to him at the moment was rubbing him wrong. Really wrong.

“You were three when I invested my first million here. Do you know why I did that?”

Tucker turned. “No.”

“Because I loved your mother. And I loved you, and your brothers. Cooper made a few bad decisions on the best place to put Paint River’s budding money. He damn near lost the ranch, so I stepped in.”

Tucker kept his voice neutral. “How noble of you.” Being as ass to Jim was about as low as he could get, but hell, he was already crawling on his belly, so what the hell.

Jim sighed and stepped closer. “Paint River is in a good place now, Tucker. It can be whatever you want it to be.” Jim touched his shoulder. Tucker’s muscles flinched at the contact, but he stopped himself before flinging Jim off. “Tuck, I just want to take care of your mother.”

Tucker twisted away. He took several paces to create some distance. Take care of Maeve? He’d been doing that for so long, Tucker couldn’t fathom not being the one she leaned on. He was good at holding her up—at holding them all up. When Levi secretly confessed he was leaving for the Marines because he hated ranching, Tucker kept his brother’s secret and helped him go through with his decision. When his little niece Birdie cried, Tucker was there to make it better. He was always there. Watching. Protecting. Supporting.

And they’d moved on to find love and, in a way, start over. He should be doing that, but instead, he’d driven Sophie away because he didn’t know how to keep her. He didn’t know how to not be angry inside, or feel like he was doing well enough. He didn’t know how to support her through the ups and downs; watch her cry, make it better. Tucker glanced at the ceiling with the urge to scream, “Thanks for being a role model, Dad,” but of course, he didn’t.

Jim continued gently, “I’m going to marry your mother and I was hoping for your blessing.”

Tucker spotted the nippers, picked them up, and palmed them. He bounced their weight in his hand. “You have my blessing. But I want to know one thing.” He wanted to throw the nippers as hard and fast as he could and absorb the sound as they impacted against the wall because that’s about how his soul felt right now. Slammed, shattered.

Jim’s face was a little pale—gray, maybe—when looked into his eyes. “Why’d you wait so long?”

The older man spread his hands wide. “What do you mean?”

Wasn’t it pretty obvious?

“I needed you. We all needed you…do you know what a difference it would have made to have you in our lives instead of that piece of shit,” his voice trailed off, his entire body shaking. The ground was calling to him, begging the sudden weakness in his legs to just bring him down. “I’d have been a better man with you in his place.” Jim’s face went another shade paler, and Tucker felt immediate regret. It was true, he’d thought about it all the time when he was younger, having Jim as a father. Still, that boyhood wish had no business coming out the mouth of a man.

“Tucker, I couldn’t be more proud of the man you are than if I had been your father. I loved you all—I still do, but it wasn’t my place to step in. I respected your mother’s marriage, and we never walked over the vows she’d made. I was there for you the best I could be then and I’m here for you now, Tuck.”

Tucker looked away. Sophie was out of reach now, or should be, after what he’d said to her. It was for the best, no matter how his soul raged that he was wrong.

“Yeah, well, it’s too late.”

Jim stood there for several moments before giving a resigned nod and walking away. Tucker waited until Jim exited the arena before letting out the burn of pent up breath. He should be happy for his mother—glad that she found happiness with a man who radiated his love for her. It didn’t matter how many times he stabbed at the truth to make it bleed and go away. He was jealous of the love everyone else seemed to have but him.

…

Sophie nodded a greeting to Jim Gilfoyle as she walked into the stable and he walked out. The smell of hay was sweet and mixed with the headier aroma of horses and leather, creating a fragrance Sophie would be able to taste on her tongue and relive in her mind at will once she left here. There was a lot about Paint River she was going to miss; the most potent aspect of the ranch being somewhere within the stable walls.

She’d steeled herself for coming face-to-face with Tucker after he’d shot her down. Her pride wouldn’t let her get away with not having this conversation with him. Despite the resolve she told herself that she had, Sophie was a ball of nerves. She walked the length of the aisle, taking her time to peek in the occupied stalls. Tucker’s horse was second from the last on the left and, despite having fresh hay, he was alone inside. She peeked in at Pana in the last stall. He dozed with his head in the corner, his ears flicking when she clicked her tongue at him. The connecting door to the arena bounced open as Tucker stormed through it. His eyes were fixed ahead, shadowed by the scowl on his brow. He didn’t even notice her by Pana’s stall as he walked past with huge, purposeful strides.

A flicker of anxiety jetted inside her, but she pushed it aside. “Tucker?”

His head snapped to the right as he faltered a little and swiveled to look back at her. There was no welcome in his face; there was no readable expression at all. Suddenly, the pie in her hands felt incredibly heavy and incredibly silly.