Texas Thunder (23 page)

She stiffened and fought for her precious control. Last night was over and done with.

Temporary.

He'd said so himself.

At the same time,
temporary
didn't have to mean
once
. It just meant that what they had—the physical connection—would come to an end. Soon.

But
soon
wasn't necessarily
now
.

He rubbed the bare flesh of her stomach above the waistband of her favorite black pencil skirt. Her favorite because it was loose enough that she didn't feel like a stuffed sausage, and snug enough in all the right places to make her feel shapely.

Or maybe it was the reverent way Brett touched her that did that.

“You feel so warm.” His voice rumbled up her spine.

“I don't think this is a good idea. Not now. Not here.” While she wanted Brett, she wasn't supposed to want him. That meant no blushing or trembling or kissing. “There are too many people.”

“Sugar, there isn't a soul in sight.”

He was right. Her gaze scanned their surroundings, from the closed door to the massive wall unit. A few canisters of various colored pastas sat here and there on the polished white wood, along with bottles of olive oil and a few boxes of gourmet cookies. Bottles of wine had been placed strategically on the hand-crafted rack. A few crystal glasses and a brass corkscrew sat on a nearby shelf. The room had been staged along with the rest of the house to show interested buyers what the place would look like as an actual home.

Maybe even their home.

“We really can't do this.” She reached out to wipe away a smudge on one of the shelves. “I've got a lot to do today. I'm meeting Mark Edwards this afternoon to hand over the jar of moonshine. He's got a friend in the chemistry department at the University of Texas who might be able to decipher the ingredients.”

“That's great, but that's later this afternoon.” Brett's deep voice slid into her ears and sent a jolt of adrenaline through her. “Right now it's just you and me.” He pulled her around and she stared up into eyes that glittered with a hungry light.

The air bolted from her lungs and her hands trembled. But then he took them in his. He raised one to his lips, pressing a kiss into her palm that made her heart ache as much as her body.

“I want to be inside of you, Callie. Right now. Right here.”

“I…” She swallowed and tried to think of something to say, but with his hands so warm around hers, his large body filling up the massive space and drinking up all her precious oxygen, she couldn't seem to find any words. “Les might need me,” she finally managed after he nuzzled one of her ears with his lips.

“I need you more.”

Need,
but what he really meant was
want
because Brett Sawyer didn't need her. Not the way she wanted him to.

The realization should have been enough to zap some common sense into her. But she'd already made up her mind to bury her thoughts of forever when it came to him. He was temporary.

Now.

The sound of muffled voices drifted from the kitchen as someone passed through talking about granite countertops and self-cleaning ovens. Water splashed and rushed as someone flipped on a faucet, reminding her that there were people just beyond the thin walls of the walk-in pantry. People who could walk in at any moment and find Callie Tucker in a compromising position with her most hated enemy.

She stiffened and forced aside the stirring images. “I really don't think this is the right time. Maybe later when we meet to look for the recipe.”

“I don't like to wait.” He kissed her then, his lips wet and hungry, his tongue greedy as he devoured her.

Lust hit her fast and hard and she realized in that next instant that she didn't like to wait, either. Even more, she didn't want to wait.

Her hands went to the buttons of her blouse as he dropped to his knees in front of her. He trailed his hands down over her buttocks, pausing to knead her bottom through the fitted material of her skirt. Fabric brushed her legs as he slid them down over her thighs, her knees, until they pooled on the floor.

He stood just as her blouse fell open. Air whispered across her nipples as she freed her breasts and let the material slide down her arms.

He bent to drop one kiss onto the tip of her nipple before pushing her up against the door. One hand caught her thigh, lifting her just enough to wedge his hips between hers and press his denim-covered crotch against her bare flesh.

His gaze drilled into hers as he rocked her, working her into a frenzy with the friction of fabric against her most sensitive parts.

Sensation rippled up her spine.

He urged her higher, his hands holding her tightly as he dipped his head. The first leisurely rasp of his tongue against her ripe nipple wrung a cry from her throat. Her fingers threaded through his hair as he drew the quivering tip deep into his hot, hungry mouth. He suckled her long and hard and she barely caught the moan that burst from her lips.

She clamped down on her bottom lip, swallowing her cries as he licked and suckled and nipped. Her skin grew itchy and tight. Pressure started between her legs, heightened by the way he leaned into her, the hard ridge of his erection prominent beneath his jeans. She spread her legs wider and he settled more deeply between them. Grasping her hips, he rocked into her.

Rubbed against her.

Up and down and side to side and …

It was too much and not enough all at the same time. Heat swamped her and she gasped for air. Her hands clutched at him, holding tight as sensation crashed over in a fierce wave that left her trembling in his arms.

From far away, she heard Les's voice. She felt a moment's panic, but then she opened her eyes and Brett was there, filling up her line of vision, blocking out everything except the fire that burned between them.

He eased her to her feet as he pulled a small foil packet from his back pocket. Tugging at the button of his jeans, he pulled his zipper down and freed his hard length.

She took the initiative then, opening the condom and spreading it on his throbbing penis from tip to root. Her fingers brushed hot skin and silky hair and anticipation coiled inside of her.

He lifted her then, bracing her back against the wall as he pushed between her thighs and pressed the head of his cock into her just a fraction.

Pleasure pierced her brain for a split second, quickly shattering into a swell of sensation as he filled her with one deep, probing thrust.

Her muscles tightened around him, gripping him tight as he held her bottom and braced her for another thrust. He pumped into her, the pressure and the friction so sweet that it took her breath away.

She was vaguely aware of the voices on the other side of the door. But then he touched her nipple and trailed a hand down her stomach. Rough fingertips made contact with the place where they joined and heat splintered her brain. She clutched wildly at his shoulders, bracing herself as she met his thrusts in a wild rhythm that urged him faster and deeper.

Then it seemed as if the room started to shake and spin. The light overhead blazed hotter and brighter and she clamped her eyes shut. But the brilliance was still there, splintering into a fireworks display that shot off and lit up the darkest depths of her mind as she came with an intensity she'd never felt before.

He buried himself deep inside her one last time, anchoring her hips tight around him. A shudder ripped through him and his body quaked as he followed her over the edge.

An odd quiet fell over them then, the sound disrupted only by her frantic breathing and the furious beat of her heart. She slipped her arms around his shoulders and held him, feeling his heartbeat mimic hers.

He tightened his hold on her, gathering her close, and a strange sense of peace stole through her.

Oddly enough, the fact that she would have to walk out of the pantry with Brett, past whoever might be looking around the kitchen—Les included—didn't bother her nearly as much as it should have.

But then Callie had never worried about what everyone else thought when it came to Brett. She'd snubbed her nose at the world, at all those Tuckers and Sawyers with their preachy judgment and holier-than-thou looks, and she'd set her sights on him anyway. She'd opened herself up to him, to
them.

And for that one small moment in time, before their disastrous ending, she'd been happy. Content.

Then, and now.

 

CHAPTER 26

“Speak of the devil,” Les said just as Brett was about to make it to the front door.

He stopped dead in his tracks, took a deep breath, and tried to ignore the urge to turn, walk back to the storage closet, and toss Callie over his shoulder, a house full of people be damned.

But she was working, after all, and she didn't want to fuel the gossip that was already spreading around Rebel because Callie Tucker had been seen driving out to the Sawyer spread every night for the past week.

Not that Brett gave a shit what people said, but he didn't want her to look unprofessional and so he'd agreed to a head start. After a deep, thorough kiss on the lips, of course.

Enough to tide him over until he saw her tonight.

As if that were enough.

His body still ached, his muscles bunched tight, and he had the gut feeling that no matter how many times they had sex, it wasn't going to be enough.

He ignored the disturbing thought, pasted on his best smile, and turned toward Les Haverty.

“I was just talking about you,” Les said, extending his hand for a shake. “I forwarded Callie's pictures to several more prospects and I've got another buyer interested. He just called and wants to drive down first thing in the morning to take a look at the property. I was going to head out to your place with the good news, but here you are.” Les smiled before the expression faded. “Why is that?”

The click of a doorknob punctuated the sentence and Brett glanced over his shoulder in time to see a flushed Callie exit the pantry and head for the first-floor restroom. Her lips were pink and full, her cheeks rosy with desire, her hair slightly mussed and it was all he could do not to go after her. To touch her one more time. Kiss her once more.

More.

“Sawyer?” Les's voice drew Brett's attention and he focused on the Realtor standing in front of him. “Why are you here?”

“I was, um, passing by and I saw your car. I thought I would just stop by and see if you had any more interested buyers and, well, you obviously do. Talk about great news.” Brett clapped Les on the shoulder. “Good job.”

“Well, I do know my business. Do you remember that old building off of Main and First? That place was condemned last year, but I managed to find an investor who agreed to completely redo it and then donate it to the city to use as a community center. Now that took some talking, but I pulled it off…” Les went on about his latest listings and how he was sure to beat Tanner Sawyer out for salesman of the year at the Carson County Board of Realtors annual fish fry and watermelon toss. “I've never actually won, but this is my year. I can just feel it, and it's all because of you. Selling a piece of the legendary Bootleg Bayou will nail it for me. I can't thank you again for giving me the opportunity.”

“Let's just hope it happens quick.”

Les winked. “You can count on it. Now, I wanted to go over a time frame with you…” Les went on about appointment times while Brett tried to forget the woman who walked into the living room and greeted an elderly couple standing in front of the newly renovated stone fireplace.

Sex, he reminded himself. That's all this was. All it could ever be.

He knew that.

So why the hell did he find himself wondering what it would be like to curl up in front of that stone fireplace, Callie in his arms, and simply sit? Talk?

Crazy.

That's what he was. He'd been tossed by too many bulls. Inhaled too much arena dust. Because no way was he thinking that maybe, just maybe, bull riding wasn't all it was cracked up to be and that signing that contract was a move he would surely regret.

That the buckles would tarnish and the fame would eventually fade, and he would be left with nothing to show for his years of hard work.

Yep, he'd hit the dust way too many times.

He was going to be a legend, for Christ's sake. The best of the best. A Cowboy Hall of Fame member for sure.

He was going to be something more than just a spoiled, self-centered, entitled Sawyer like his father. He was on his way. It was just a matter of signing the contract and preserving his winning streak.

Which he would most certainly do.

In his peripheral vision, he caught the flash of a blond ponytail and his heart stalled.

But first he was going to finish things here. That meant finding the recipe and forgetting Callie Tucker.

And if it took another trip to the pantry, or another striptease down by the creek, well, he was more than ready for it. He would do whatever it took to work her out of his system and leave Rebel with a clean slate this time.

No unfinished business.

No regret.

No Callie.

No.

He held tight to the notion as he climbed into his truck and hit the dirt road leading to the ranch.

By the time he reached Bootleg Bayou, he actually started to believe it.

Especially when he found his pappy sitting at his desk in the study, his spectacles in place as he read over the ledger that Brett had updated just that morning.

He looked just as Brett remembered him. Thoughtful. Happy. Coherent.

“Hey, Pappy.” He ignored the worry that niggled at him. A feeling that slipped away as the old man glanced up and a smile cracked his ancient face. “You look good today.”

“I feel pretty good.” He glanced down at the ledger and his smile faltered. “We're still not pulling in enough.”