Gambling On A Secret–Excerpts

Gambling On A Secret, Sara Walter Ellwood, contemporary western romance, romantic suspense, cowboy romance, Texas romance, small town romance

 

Excerpts

©2013 Sara F. (Walter) Ellwood, all rights reserved

 

Excerpt 1 (Highlight)

Dylan moved over to her, grabbed her shoulders and spun her around before he realized what he was doing. Charli stood close enough for him to smell the sweet scent of peaches and see the flecks of blue in her wide green eyes. “I warned you more than once about Ferguson. I won’t let you give him this ranch. I’ll buy it from you first.”

She laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding. You’ll buy the ranch? Hell.”

She bent into the open refrigerator. It wasn’t a secret he was broke, but her easy dismissal pinched his heart in an unfamiliar and uncomfortable way.

Over her shoulder, Charli burned him with the fire of her cat-like eyes. “I don’t really give a flyin’ fu–I don’t care what your deal is with Leon. He’s done nothing to me. He’s a gentleman and only wants to be my friend.” She turned back toward him with a carton of eggs in one hand and a jug of milk in the other. “So, if you can’t accept that, I think you know what you can do. Goes for my rule about your drinking, too. Take it or leave it. The door’s open.”

~*~*~*~

Excerpt 2 (Official)

“Ferguson, what are you doing here?” Dylan barked.

Leon ambled toward them on the stone path. “I’m saving a young maiden from torment. What are you doing here, playing the part of the devil?”

“I’m Miss Monroe’s new manager.” The deadly edge of his voice matched the flintiness of his eyes. “If there’s anyone to save the young maiden from, it’s you.”

“Mr. Quinn, please.” She turned to Leon. “Leon, is there something I can do for you?”

He smiled, showing off perfect white teeth in a face handsome enough to belong to an actor. “I was just passing by on my way home and decided to stop. How are the boys working out?”

Dylan’s stance widened and his hands flexed at his slides. “What boys?”

“Charli and I have entered into a business arrangement.”

She lost the battle with the urge to wrap her arms around herself. As much as she appreciated Leon’s kindness, respected him, and was even a little attracted to him, something about him didn’t sit right with her. He represented her peers in the community. According to Mrs. Pratt, besides the Cartwrights, she and Leon were undoubtedly the wealthiest residents in the county. No one in Colton could learn about her past. It would ruin her, and Leon, no doubt, had the means to dig up the dirt.

“Really?” Dylan stepped closer to her in a protective manner. Whiskey tainted his breath as the warmth of the exhalations tickled her cheek. “What kind of business arrangement?”

She could protect herself. Dylan Quinn wasn’t any safer than Leon Ferguson. Stepping away from him, she forced her arms to her sides. “Mr. Quinn, I can handle this.”

She faced Leon. “I’m amazed by how much the men got done since starting on Monday. The foreman told me last evening they’d be reseeding another fifty acres for hay this morning. And they have the corrals fixed and started on the fencing in the north pasture.”

“Good, good.” He glanced at Dylan. “I’ll be going, unless you need a more reliable exterminator. I couldn’t help but overhear about your snake infestation. I can give you the name of the company that has gotten rid of the snakes in our lakes over on Oak Springs for years.”

Although he presented the perfect solution, she didn’t the like way Leon had looked at Dylan as he said the word exterminator. “No, Mr. Quinn is quite capable of getting rid of the snake.”

“Oh, I’m sure he is.” Leon tipped his hat. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you, Charli.” Dylan’s jaw tightened as his uncle glanced at him. “It’s good to see you up among the living again.”

Leon headed back to his Porsche. With no pretense of lowering his voice, Dylan said, “Now, there’s a snake no one wants in their garden.”

Upon hearing the jibe, Leon’s shoulders jerked in mid-stride.

Rattled by Leon’s attention and the snake fiasco, she turned on Dylan. “You aren’t off the hook. I want those snakes gone.”

“We’ll see.”

“I hate snakes.” She shuddered and put her hands on her hips. “Maybe I should have asked him who the exterminator is.”

~*~*~*~

Excerpt 3 (Beginning of Chapter 1)

“You’re twenty minutes late, Mr. Quinn. It wouldn’t hurt to show a little punctuality if you wanted a job.” Charli Monroe stopped at the gate in the broken picket fence of her newly purchased, broken-down ranch.

The man behind the wheel of the beat up pickup truck peered out the open window. A brown cowboy hat shadowed a face hard enough to be chiseled out of stone. “This old place needs a lot of work. It’s been empty for five years.”

He spoke with a deep velvet timbre that settled somewhere in her chest and reverberated.

She swallowed and fought the urge to hug herself. He didn’t seem too concerned about being late. Was he going to get out of the truck? When he made no move to do so, she wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed. He obviously didn’t want the job that badly. “Do you know why the place was in probate for so long?”

Dylan Quinn slid the cowboy hat back over his dark hair. A corner of his lips twitched upward. It couldn’t be called a smile, but it momentarily softened his mouth. The warmth of the phantom grin never reached his cloudy-day eyes. “Jock Blackwell died without a will, and his sons hate each other and despised their father and this ranch.”

That was pretty much what the landlady of the student boarding house where she currently lived had told her. Jock Blackwell had gotten three of his girlfriends pregnant and refused to marry them in a time such behavior was socially unacceptable. Each of his three sons blamed his misfortunes in life on their label of illegitimacy. She knew all about being a bastard. Her dear old dad hadn’t stuck around either.

“It was a shame to watch this place go to hell.” He looked beyond her at the ramshackle Victorian house. “There was a time when it was one of the best cattle ranches in all of Central Texas.”

“You’re from around here?” He didn’t exactly sound like a born and bred Texan. His accent suggested he was from the Mid-Atlantic area.

He nodded and rubbed over the dark stubble along his angular jaw. “You could say that. My mother grew up on Oak Springs Ranch–your neighbor to the east. I lived there as a teenager. So, are you still looking for a manager, or not?”

Not. But the way he looked at her made the lie stick in her throat. She took a few steps toward the side of the truck.

As she wrapped her arms around herself, a shiver tickled down her spine. She had to be cold, despite the warm early-March sun beating down on her. What else could it be? She wasn’t afraid, but something about him put her senses on edge. Was it his rugged handsomeness or the slate gray of his tortured eyes?

“Yes, I am. I’m Charlotte Monroe. I go by Charli. I have to get the place ready for the cattle coming in a few weeks. I’m also buying four horses from Sheriff Zack Cartwright.”

Another half-smile tugged on his lips. “You’ve been busy. Can’t get better horses from anywhere else. How many cattle?”

“A hundred Salers calves.”

“The French breed?”

Most people had no clue what they were. If her grandfather hadn’t been something of a cattle collector, she wouldn’t have known them either. “Yes. Do you know about them?”

“I’ve heard they’re good for beef and easy calving.” Dylan looked across the gravel driveway. “The barn needs a new roof and the right side looks like it’s about ready to collapse. Are all the other buildings in as bad shape?”

Why didn’t he want to look for himself? “Unfortunately, yes. The barbed wire fencing also needs fixing. The bunkhouse is worse than the barn.” She pointed behind her at the native limestone and clapboard house. “The house needs work, as you can see. At least, the extra stables and storage barn next to it aren’t quite as broken down.”

“Probably because they’re not as old.” He looked around again as if confirming her appraisal. “Sounds like you need a carpenter, not a ranch manager.”

“I need both. I said as much in the newspaper ad. I’m looking for someone who will help me oversee repairs, hire on hands as needed and make this place a working ranch again.”

He regarded her for a long moment and cocked a brow. Damn, was he making fun of her? He looked her up and down. “Wouldn’t a woman like you be more comfortable getting manicures and massages in a Dallas spa, not worrying about cattle breeds and barn roofs? It’s no secret around town you’re the heiress to the Monroe Farm Equipment fortune, and you sold a huge ranch in Oklahoma your grandfather left you. Why on Earth did you buy a dump like this?”

Now he’d pissed her off. She might have more money than she’d ever dreamed of having. She might like to dress in designer clothes, but it was none of this jerk’s business which ranch she bought. Or why she wanted it. She had a business plan and a vision for the ranch; what else mattered? “I happen to like this place. It suits me better than the ranch I sold.”

“Is that so? Did you bring any equipment with you? A tractor, a planter, hay mower, baler, anything?”

He would bring up one of the stupidest things she’d done. Sighing, she admitted, “I sold the equipment with the ranch when I decided to leave Oklahoma. One more reason I need a manager.” Her cheeks burned. “When I sold the ranch after inheriting it, I didn’t intend to buy another.”

“Why did you buy another ranch?” He slid his gaze back to hers and peered at her as if he could read her every thought–but what had her swallowing hard was the spark of something hot in his eyes.

She tightened her arms in the hug she gave herself–a self-protecting, insecure gesture she’d acquired while she lived with her abusive lover in Las Vegas as a teenage runaway.

“Buying a ranch the size of this one isn’t something most folks just wake up and decide to do, Miss Monroe. A ten-thousand-acre spread takes commitment and dedication and is damned hard work.”

Yeah, she knew that.

He looked down at her multicolored Manolo Blahnik five-inch heeled slides. The ghost of a smile touched his lips again, but this time little crinkles formed at the corners of his eyes, which held a spark of interest she didn’t want.

Damn, he was good-looking. She squelched that notion like the roach she’d killed earlier in the house. Hadn’t her life with Ricardo taught her a handsome face meant nothing but trouble?

“I can’t imagine you stuffing those pampered and polished feet into rubber boots to muck around in the barn.”

Me, either. But she would if she had to.

She drew in a breath and dropped her arms to her sides. “I think we should get back to asking questions about you. When your sister called about my newspaper ad, she said you were exactly what I’m looking for.”

He shrugged again in a not-a-care-in-the-world way again. What was this guy’s problem? If she weren’t running out of time, she would tell him to leave. She couldn’t waste this year, which meant she had to get someone hired. And her prospects were limited.

“Can you do the job?”

“Affirmative.”

She waited for him to elaborate, but when he didn’t, she frowned. “Do you have any references?”

“I expected you to ask. Everything you need to know should be in here.”

She moved closer and took the folded sheet of paper he held out the window. After glancing at it, she wasn’t surprised it was a resume, but his listed experience had her heart beating a little faster. She looked up at him. “You have a degree in agricultural business from Texas A & M, started up your own ranch and served in the Army?”

He looked off in the distance. “I was in the service for thirteen years, three years in the Corps of Engineers, four in Airborne and the last six in Special Forces.” His jaw clenched, making his face the chiseled block of cold stone again. “And I know something about building. When I wasn’t deployed, I built the house and barn on my two-hundred acre ranch.”

“You don’t own the ranch now?”

“No. My ex-wife got it in our divorce settlement. I planned to get out of the Army after my last tour in Afghanistan and raise cattle. But things never happen the way we want them to.”

The bitterness of his tone had her stepping away. She shivered again and busied herself with looking at the resume. Whatever his ex-wife had done to him, it wasn’t good. “Your reference list is pretty skimpy.”

“The first name is my old commander, but I just got word he’s shipped out on a secret mission.”

Something wasn’t adding up. Either he was hiding something or his sister had lied about his experience. “Your sister said you worked on Oak Springs Ranch while in high school, but it’s not listed on your resume. Are you related to the owner, Leon Ferguson? You said your mother grew up there.”

His eyes narrowed and his lips thinned into a tight line. “Leon is my mother’s stepbrother. While my grandfather was still alive and ran the ranch, I worked there until I joined the Army after he died. I chose not to mention it.”

But why? She didn’t press the matter. She wasn’t seriously considering him for the job anyway, was she?

“My landlady said Mr. Ferguson might be willing to contract me the men and equipment I need to get the mesquite cleaned out of my pastures and the fields ready for planting.” She shifted her feet. She had no idea what his gripe with the richest man in the county was, and maybe for that reason, she needed his opinion. Dylan Quinn was the first person she’d met who seemed to dislike the tycoon. “I’d like to get some alfalfa and grasses in for hay. It’s getting late in the season. Do you think he’d help me out?”

He rubbed his stubble-shadowed jaw. What kind of man went to a job interview and didn’t even bother shaving off the scruff? “This might not be any of my business, but since you asked my opinion, let me warn you. The last thing you want to do is to get tangled up with Leon Ferguson. You’ll be sorry. He’s wanted this land for a long time, and he’ll do anything to get it.”

“You’re right. It isn’t any of your business.” Why would he think such a thing? After all, someone as rich as Ferguson could have bought the place before she put her bid in. Dylan obviously had a personal problem with Ferguson. Everyone else had nothing but good to say about Leon Ferguson. He was on the board of directors for the college she was attending, the hospital, and had donated a large sum of money to the county schools and other local charities. At least according to her landlady, Aida Mae Pratt.

“Suit yourself. But you did ask for my opinion.”

Which had been a big mistake.

She studied the resume again. “Brenda Dailey. Is this person off-limits, too? Or can I speak with her?”

“My ex-wife. I’d appreciate it if you don’t involve her. I put her on there because of the ranch.”

She looked up at him. “The divorce that bad, huh?”

Dylan shrugged and looked away. He gripped the top of the steering wheel hard enough to whiten his knuckles. “Suppose it’s no secret. Our divorce has only been final four months, and she married her baby-daddy the day after it became official. You figure it out.”

“Ouch. Okay, I won’t call your ex. Nevertheless, I’d like to see your house. Your sister mentioned you were a carpenter.” She glanced at the address of his former ranch. “Killeen’s south of here?”

He nodded. “It’s your two hours and tank of gas.”

“Thank you for stopping by. Your number’s on here. I’ll call you.”

“Thanks for your time, Miss Monroe. Good luck with this place.” He looked around at the buildings and over her before he turned the key in the ignition. The rusted bucket of bolts sputtered and the starter groaned before the engine turned over.

As he pulled away, she looked at the piece of paper in her shaky hand and studied his name at the top.

Damn, she’d hoped he was the one.

She crumpled the paper, and the memory of his weathered eyes, as dull and gray as her ranch buildings, came to her. What ghosts did he see when he closed them?

She opened her palm and stared at the wad of paper. Feeling haunted by the past was something she understood very well.

“You’re twenty minutes late, Mr. Quinn. It wouldn’t hurt to show a little punctuality if you wanted a job.” Charli Monroe stopped at the gate in the broken picket fence of her newly purchased, broken-down ranch.

The man behind the wheel of the beat up pickup truck peered out the open window. A brown cowboy hat shadowed a face hard enough to be chiseled out of stone. “This old place needs a lot of work. It’s been empty for five years.”

He spoke with a deep velvet timbre that settled somewhere in her chest and reverberated.

She swallowed and fought the urge to hug herself. He didn’t seem too concerned about being late. Was he going to get out of the truck? When he made no move to do so, she wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed. He obviously didn’t want the job that badly. “Do you know why the place was in probate for so long?”

Dylan Quinn slid the cowboy hat back over his dark hair. A corner of his lips twitched upward. It couldn’t be called a smile, but it momentarily softened his mouth. The warmth of the phantom grin never reached his cloudy-day eyes. “Jock Blackwell died without a will, and his sons hate each other and despised their father and this ranch.”

That was pretty much what the landlady of the student boarding house where she currently lived had told her. Jock Blackwell had gotten three of his girlfriends pregnant and refused to marry them in a time such behavior was socially unacceptable. Each of his three sons blamed his misfortunes in life on their label of illegitimacy. She knew all about being a bastard. Her dear old dad hadn’t stuck around either.

“It was a shame to watch this place go to hell.” He looked beyond her at the ramshackle Victorian house. “There was a time when it was one of the best cattle ranches in all of Central Texas.”

“You’re from around here?” He didn’t exactly sound like a born and bred Texan. His accent suggested he was from the Mid-Atlantic area.

He nodded and rubbed over the dark stubble along his angular jaw. “You could say that. My mother grew up on Oak Springs Ranch–your neighbor to the east. I lived there as a teenager. So, are you still looking for a manager, or not?”

Not. But the way he looked at her made the lie stick in her throat. She took a few steps toward the side of the truck.

As she wrapped her arms around herself, a shiver tickled down her spine. She had to be cold, despite the warm early-March sun beating down on her. What else could it be? She wasn’t afraid, but something about him put her senses on edge. Was it his rugged handsomeness or the slate gray of his tortured eyes?

“Yes, I am. I’m Charlotte Monroe. I go by Charli. I have to get the place ready for the cattle coming in a few weeks. I’m also buying four horses from Sheriff Zack Cartwright.”

Another half-smile tugged on his lips. “You’ve been busy. Can’t get better horses from anywhere else. How many cattle?”

“A hundred Salers calves.”

“The French breed?”

Most people had no clue what they were. If her grandfather hadn’t been something of a cattle collector, she wouldn’t have known them either. “Yes. Do you know about them?”

“I’ve heard they’re good for beef and easy calving.” Dylan looked across the gravel driveway. “The barn needs a new roof and the right side looks like it’s about ready to collapse. Are all the other buildings in as bad shape?”

Why didn’t he want to look for himself? “Unfortunately, yes. The barbed wire fencing also needs fixing. The bunkhouse is worse than the barn.” She pointed behind her at the native limestone and clapboard house. “The house needs work, as you can see. At least, the extra stables and storage barn next to it aren’t quite as broken down.”

“Probably because they’re not as old.” He looked around again as if confirming her appraisal. “Sounds like you need a carpenter, not a ranch manager.”

“I need both. I said as much in the newspaper ad. I’m looking for someone who will help me oversee repairs, hire on hands as needed and make this place a working ranch again.”

He regarded her for a long moment and cocked a brow. Damn, was he making fun of her? He looked her up and down. “Wouldn’t a woman like you be more comfortable getting manicures and massages in a Dallas spa, not worrying about cattle breeds and barn roofs? It’s no secret around town you’re the heiress to the Monroe Farm Equipment fortune, and you sold a huge ranch in Oklahoma your grandfather left you. Why on Earth did you buy a dump like this?”

Now he’d pissed her off. She might have more money than she’d ever dreamed of having. She might like to dress in designer clothes, but it was none of this jerk’s business which ranch she bought. Or why she wanted it. She had a business plan and a vision for the ranch; what else mattered? “I happen to like this place. It suits me better than the ranch I sold.”

“Is that so? Did you bring any equipment with you? A tractor, a planter, hay mower, baler, anything?”

He would bring up one of the stupidest things she’d done. Sighing, she admitted, “I sold the equipment with the ranch when I decided to leave Oklahoma. One more reason I need a manager.” Her cheeks burned. “When I sold the ranch after inheriting it, I didn’t intend to buy another.”

“Why did you buy another ranch?” He slid his gaze back to hers and peered at her as if he could read her every thought–but what had her swallowing hard was the spark of something hot in his eyes.

She tightened her arms in the hug she gave herself–a self-protecting, insecure gesture she’d acquired while she lived with her abusive lover in Las Vegas as a teenage runaway.

“Buying a ranch the size of this one isn’t something most folks just wake up and decide to do, Miss Monroe. A ten-thousand-acre spread takes commitment and dedication and is damned hard work.”

Yeah, she knew that.

He looked down at her multicolored Manolo Blahnik five-inch heeled slides. The ghost of a smile touched his lips again, but this time little crinkles formed at the corners of his eyes, which held a spark of interest she didn’t want.

Damn, he was good-looking. She squelched that notion like the roach she’d killed earlier in the house. Hadn’t her life with Ricardo taught her a handsome face meant nothing but trouble?

“I can’t imagine you stuffing those pampered and polished feet into rubber boots to muck around in the barn.”

Me, either. But she would if she had to.

She drew in a breath and dropped her arms to her sides. “I think we should get back to asking questions about you. When your sister called about my newspaper ad, she said you were exactly what I’m looking for.”

He shrugged again in a not-a-care-in-the-world way again. What was this guy’s problem? If she weren’t running out of time, she would tell him to leave. She couldn’t waste this year, which meant she had to get someone hired. And her prospects were limited.

“Can you do the job?”

“Affirmative.”

She waited for him to elaborate, but when he didn’t, she frowned. “Do you have any references?”

“I expected you to ask. Everything you need to know should be in here.”

She moved closer and took the folded sheet of paper he held out the window. After glancing at it, she wasn’t surprised it was a resume, but his listed experience had her heart beating a little faster. She looked up at him. “You have a degree in agricultural business from Texas A & M, started up your own ranch and served in the Army?”

He looked off in the distance. “I was in the service for thirteen years, three years in the Corps of Engineers, four in Airborne and the last six in Special Forces.” His jaw clenched, making his face the chiseled block of cold stone again. “And I know something about building. When I wasn’t deployed, I built the house and barn on my two-hundred acre ranch.”

“You don’t own the ranch now?”

“No. My ex-wife got it in our divorce settlement. I planned to get out of the Army after my last tour in Afghanistan and raise cattle. But things never happen the way we want them to.”

The bitterness of his tone had her stepping away. She shivered again and busied herself with looking at the resume. Whatever his ex-wife had done to him, it wasn’t good. “Your reference list is pretty skimpy.”

“The first name is my old commander, but I just got word he’s shipped out on a secret mission.”

Something wasn’t adding up. Either he was hiding something or his sister had lied about his experience. “Your sister said you worked on Oak Springs Ranch while in high school, but it’s not listed on your resume. Are you related to the owner, Leon Ferguson? You said your mother grew up there.”

His eyes narrowed and his lips thinned into a tight line. “Leon is my mother’s stepbrother. While my grandfather was still alive and ran the ranch, I worked there until I joined the Army after he died. I chose not to mention it.”

But why? She didn’t press the matter. She wasn’t seriously considering him for the job anyway, was she?

“My landlady said Mr. Ferguson might be willing to contract me the men and equipment I need to get the mesquite cleaned out of my pastures and the fields ready for planting.” She shifted her feet. She had no idea what his gripe with the richest man in the county was, and maybe for that reason, she needed his opinion. Dylan Quinn was the first person she’d met who seemed to dislike the tycoon. “I’d like to get some alfalfa and grasses in for hay. It’s getting late in the season. Do you think he’d help me out?”

He rubbed his stubble-shadowed jaw. What kind of man went to a job interview and didn’t even bother shaving off the scruff? “This might not be any of my business, but since you asked my opinion, let me warn you. The last thing you want to do is to get tangled up with Leon Ferguson. You’ll be sorry. He’s wanted this land for a long time, and he’ll do anything to get it.”

“You’re right. It isn’t any of your business.” Why would he think such a thing? After all, someone as rich as Ferguson could have bought the place before she put her bid in. Dylan obviously had a personal problem with Ferguson. Everyone else had nothing but good to say about Leon Ferguson. He was on the board of directors for the college she was attending, the hospital, and had donated a large sum of money to the county schools and other local charities. At least according to her landlady, Aida Mae Pratt.

“Suit yourself. But you did ask for my opinion.”

Which had been a big mistake.

She studied the resume again. “Brenda Dailey. Is this person off-limits, too? Or can I speak with her?”

“My ex-wife. I’d appreciate it if you don’t involve her. I put her on there because of the ranch.”

She looked up at him. “The divorce that bad, huh?”

Dylan shrugged and looked away. He gripped the top of the steering wheel hard enough to whiten his knuckles. “Suppose it’s no secret. Our divorce has only been final four months, and she married her baby-daddy the day after it became official. You figure it out.”

“Ouch. Okay, I won’t call your ex. Nevertheless, I’d like to see your house. Your sister mentioned you were a carpenter.” She glanced at the address of his former ranch. “Killeen’s south of here?”

He nodded. “It’s your two hours and tank of gas.”

“Thank you for stopping by. Your number’s on here. I’ll call you.”

“Thanks for your time, Miss Monroe. Good luck with this place.” He looked around at the buildings and over her before he turned the key in the ignition. The rusted bucket of bolts sputtered and the starter groaned before the engine turned over.

As he pulled away, she looked at the piece of paper in her shaky hand and studied his name at the top.

Damn, she’d hoped he was the one.

She crumpled the paper, and the memory of his weathered eyes, as dull and gray as her ranch buildings, came to her. What ghosts did he see when he closed them?

She opened her palm and stared at the wad of paper. Feeling haunted by the past was something she understood very well.

~*~*~*~

Except 4 (HOT)

“Stay with me for a little while.” Her voice was warm as good Southern whiskey and just as intoxicating. “I don’t want to fight this thing between us anymore. I don’t want to be alone.”

“Me either.” Slowly, he slid his hands over the soft cotton covering her back. She shivered and her lips parted.

He lowered his mouth to hers, and she opened to accept the full thrust of his tongue. She tugged on his t-shirt, and skimmed her hands over the skin under the hem. He groaned deep in his chest as she raked her nails over the small of his back, jolting his already excited erection.

When he tried to retreat from the battle of dueling tongues, she sucked on his, wrenching a long, deep moan from him. His hands held the curve of her behind, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to touch her flesh.

She broke the kiss long enough to pull his t-shirt over his head. Before he knew what she was doing, her hands were on his belt. He caught her by the wrists and stripped her of her shirt and bra. She tugged off her boots and shimmied out of her jeans between gut-twisting kisses.

She stood before him wearing only a diamond studded belly button ring and a pair of stretch lace, pink panties. Freckles, millions of them, speckled the creamy porcelain of her skin. Like springs caught in a blacksmith’s fire, her red-gold hair fell around her face and shoulders and down her back to her waist. The sexy pout puckering her lips and the heavy-lidded eyes caught and held his.

He knew she wasn’t innocent, but something about the way she looked made him think she was far more experienced than he’d initially thought.

“Are you sure we should do this?” His voice came through as a low rumble.

Charli flashed him a wicked grin. She skimmed her right hand over the Special Forces tat and the puckered nipple on the left side of his chest. He shuddered when she leaned in and flicked her hot tongue over the point and ran her hands down his body to the fly of his jeans. She’d already opened the belt. She lowered the zipper and purred against his skin. “Don’t you dare get all noble on me now.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

To return to the Main Page

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

%d bloggers like this: