CHAPTER TWELVE
LUKE HAD JUST kicked off his boots, and was on his way to the fridge to grab a beer. It had been a long day of work at the ranch, and that short interval he’d spent with Olivia hadn’t really helped. The break hadn’t left him feeling relaxed, not in the least. Instead, it had put him square on edge, his toes pressed against the ledge of a cliff, a slight breeze likely to push him off.
Then he had gone back to Get Out of Dodge and had punished himself with physical labor until the sun had gone down. And then he had worked some after that, too. It was late, he was tired and he was cranky as hell.
But he was about to have some alcohol.
At least, that was the plan until he heard a knock on the door.
He looked around the spare cabin that he called home. He rented the place on a remote plot of land outside of Gold Valley, and rarely did anyone come to visit him. There was no reason to. He went out if he wanted to associate with people, or they had gatherings at the Dodge place, which was big and civilized and wasn’t slapped together with rough-hewn logs.
He didn’t spend all that much time at home. Just the evenings. He worked seven days a week at the ranch in some capacity, and if he ever did have a day off he usually spent the time outdoors anyway.
That meant he didn’t need much. Didn’t matter that he could have afforded more, it wasn’t necessary.
Still, it didn’t make his place the ideal location for house parties or, really, visitors of any kind, and he couldn’t imagine who had come out all this way to see him at eight o’clock at night.
Unless it was Bennett, looking to cave his face in. Which sounded about right.
His interactions with Wyatt had been strained today, too, but he knew that Wyatt wasn’t going to go getting himself involved, either. He had thought initially that he might, but if he hadn’t at this point, he wasn’t going to.
Bennett, though—he might be out looking for a fight.
But Luke could still feel the way Olivia’s lips had felt pressed against his, the way she had sighed with pleasure as he had curved his hand around to cup her head and take the kiss deeper.
Yeah, if he was about to get punched in the face, he could honestly say that it was worth it.
So the hell with it.
He jerked the door open, ready to dodge a blow if need be, and was shocked to see Olivia standing there, looking nearly drowned by the downpour that was happening outside. Her dark hair hung in heavy chunks down past her shoulders, her arms wrapped around her slender body, a sweater the only thing she had to shield her from the elements.
He looked her over. “You’d better come in.”
She nodded jerkily and traipsed in the door, still holding on to her elbows.
“What are you doing here, kiddo?”
She didn’t say anything. Instead, she treated him to an expression he imagined was supposed to be fearsome, her brows drawing together, her lips pulled down into a frown.
“I see,” he said.
He turned away from her, moving to the old freestanding cabinet that was in the living room area. A rickety piece of furniture that had been there when he moved in. He figured it was for China plates or some other fancy bullshit. He used it for alcohol.
He opened up the cabinet and regarded it for a moment, then took out a bottle of whiskey that Quinn Dodge had given him for Christmas a few years ago. It was good stuff. Not the kind of thing he indulged in on a nightly basis. But Olivia looked like she was in a Serious Whiskey Space.
He took two glasses down and poured a small amount of the amber liquid into them. He didn’t wait for her to protest or to confirm that she wanted any. He grabbed hold of the top of the glass and held it out to her.
She took hold of it with both hands, clutching it tightly, as though it might offer her some security. Which, fair enough. He found alcohol offered him a fair measure of security at any given point in time. And confidence. It was good for that, too.
She wordlessly lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip. She grimaced, opening her mouth and sticking her tongue out, making a distressed sound. “It’s like drinking a campfire.”
“Now that you mention it, it kind of is. But I consider that part of its charm.”
“No, thank you,” she said crisply, handing the glass back to him.
He chuckled, but took it from her and set it back down on the cabinet. “Okay. So you didn’t come here to have a drink with me. What exactly are you here for?”
She looked up at him, her expression so helpless it might have been funny if it didn’t reach down inside of him, grab hold of his heart and pull hard. Luke Hollister was no sucker, and he wasn’t a softy, either. But there was something about Olivia. Olivia and this strange vulnerability that he could see in her eyes. Olivia, who was usually about as vulnerable as a cactus.
Her expression was expectant, as though she was hoping he might hazard a guess, so that she wouldn’t have to say what was on her mind.
He could start trying to guess, but he didn’t want to give her any outs. Didn’t want to offer an option that seemed more palatable to whatever she was here for. And he didn’t want to say anything so shocking it might scare her off.
Plus, Olivia could do with some personal responsibility. With some consequences for her actions.
That was why he had said if she wanted to be touched she was going to have to ask.
He wasn’t going to play the part of aggressor and allow her to be the helpless maiden. While it was a fine thing in terms of role-play, it was also a great way for her to pretend that he was the brute, and she had no stake in any of what had happened between them.
No. He wasn’t giving her that kind of relief.
Maybe that was moot. Maybe she had another flat tire. Maybe that was all she needed him for. Maybe, she just wanted to talk about her feelings. But that look in her eyes, that wild, helpless look, made him think it was something a lot deeper than that.
And he would be damned if he gave her any excuse later to do anything but own it.
“Something happened,” she said, beginning to pace, water dripping from her hair.
“Why are you so wet?”
She turned to him. “Oh. I stood outside in the rain about five minutes before I knocked on your door.” She said this as though it was completely normal.
“Why?”
“Because I was considering running into the woods. Starting my life over as a squirrel.”
“I don’t recommend that,” he said, keeping his voice grave.
“Squirrels seem happy,” she said. “Their life seems simple.”
“Indecisive squirrels often end up as roadkill. Remember that.”
“Bennett asked to get back together,” she said.
His stomach constricted, his skin suddenly feeling tight. That was why she had come. To tell him that whatever was going on between them—which wasn’t really anything, since it was just a show they were putting on for Bennett’s benefit—was over.
“Well,” he said, “congratulations.”
“I didn’t...”
“I might skip the wedding. But I can send you a toaster. Assuming you need a toaster.”
She made a short, frustrated sound, bouncing up and down with frustrated energy. And then she took one stride forward, reaching up and grabbing hold of his face, pulling him down so that he was a scant half inch from her mouth. “I told him to take a hike,” she said, her brown eyes fixed on his.
He could smell her. That scent that was woman and rain, vanilla and Olivia. And he wanted to inhale her. Indulge himself. With every inch of her beautiful body.
But instead, he simply stayed like he was, the tips of their noses nearly touching, her eyes glittering.
“You did?”
“Yes,” she said, her tone intense.
“Why the hell did you do that? You want him. That’s what you told me. That you want to be with him. You had your chance. Why the hell didn’t you take it?”
“He dated me because my dad told him to,” she said, her expression turning furious, mutinous. And she was still holding on to his face. Her fingernails were digging into his temples, and he didn’t even care. “Do you have any idea how humiliating that is? He never cared about me. Ever. He cared about the idea of us. And it’s all...it’s all about keeping me safe, and keeping me living this...this life that I’m supposed to live and I don’t know if I want to live that life anymore.”
Her voice was trembling with rage. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen her so upset, and considering that he had in the past made a near living out of annoying Olivia, that was saying something.
“I’m not charity,” she said. “And I’m not a hen. I don’t need to be protected, I don’t need to be coddled. I need... I need something else.”
In spite of himself, he lifted his hand, cupped her chin gently and tilted her face up just a little more, bringing her lips a bit closer to his own. He could feel her breath, warm and unsteady, and he wanted to drink it in.
“Sadly, kiddo, I would say you are a hen. And you walked into the fox’s house.”
She shivered, from cold or something else he didn’t know. “Fine. Maybe I am. But I came here on purpose.” A spark lit deep in those brown eyes, turning them a whiskey gold, like the drink she had rejected earlier. Twice as likely to get him drunk, too, that was sure.
“What exactly are you saying? Just say it. And don’t expect me to make it easy for you.”
“You haven’t made anything easy for me. Not from the first day I met you. I wouldn’t expect you to start now.” She tilted her face up just a fraction, and now their lips were so close a breeze could barely pass through them.
“Fair enough. Since you’ve made things very, very hard for me.” He wasn’t sure if she got the double entendre in that, but he’d meant it. Since she had shown up at the door he had been hard. Painfully so.
Restraint. Teasing. He didn’t go in for all that, and that was all he’d had with Olivia over the past weeks.
“I’m tired of being good,” she said. “It hasn’t gotten me anything.”
“Did you come here to be bad? Because you already failed at step one. You rejected the alcohol. That’s not taking to peer pressure very well.”
“I’m not here for a drink.”
The hold on his face softened, and she dragged her fingertips down his cheeks, along his jaw, pressing both her thumbs against his lower lip, and then tracing it in opposite directions.
“You have to say it, Liv,” he said, the words hoarse, broken.
“I want you,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.
“Not just kissing,” he said. “Let’s make that very clear.”
She shook her head. “No. Not just kissing.”
“This is because you’re mad at Bennett?” He asked himself, very seriously, at least for a moment, if that was a problem. It burned in his gut, like he’d been stabbed with a red-hot poker, but his desire for Olivia burned a hell of a lot hotter. And it was going to win.
Pride be damned.
This woman was under his skin in a way no other woman had ever been. He couldn’t wait. And he sure as hell couldn’t live in a world where he would never know how soft her skin was all over. Where he never had a chance to see what she looked like uncovered. What color her nipples were. What she would taste like between her thighs when she was wet with her desire for him.
He could deal with being a revenge lay. But not having Olivia?
He didn’t think he could live with that.
“It wasn’t worth it,” she said. “He wasn’t worth it.”
It was admittance enough of her anger. Of the fact that she was reacting to the confrontation with him. But he didn’t care. He really, really didn’t care.
“I’m going to tell you something,” he said, tightening his hold on her chin. “I’m not worth it, either. But I’m going to make tonight worth it. I’m going to make damn sure that this, this revenge that you’re taking, makes it all worth it. That months from now, years from now, you’re going to be lying in bed at night, and you’re going to think of this. You’re going to think of me. I’m not worth it. But the sex sure as hell will be.”
She gasped, but he swallowed it, pulling her face toward his and claiming her mouth. He kissed her deep, he kissed her hard, he kissed her knowing that this wasn’t going to end in frustration and a hard cock.
No, tonight he was going to end up inside of her.
That thought tested the limits of his control, made him feel at the end of it already, when all they were doing was kissing. When she still had her hands on his face, and he had one hand on her chin. They hadn’t even begun to explore each other’s bodies. Everybody was fully dressed.
It was already the hottest damned encounter of his life.
“You’re cold,” he said, when she shivered against him. “Let me warm you up.”
He didn’t wait for her to ask how, didn’t wait for her to say anything. He gripped the wet hem of her sweater and pulled it up over her head, leaving her standing there in a lacy bra that showed off small, perky tits that just about brought him to his knees.
Her cheeks turned pink, that beautiful flush spreading all the way down to the shadow between her breasts. She wrapped her arms around herself, like she had done when she had first come in to see him. He grabbed hold of her wrist, drawing her arm back down. “No,” he said. “I get to see you.”
Her eyes widened, but she put her hands down at her sides, curling them into fists, looking like it was taking every bit of her strength to stay rooted to the spot, rather than scurrying under a piece of furniture.
He could tell that it was an effort for her to stand there like that, underneath his gaze. He liked that. Couldn’t say why. Except that he affected her. In a way that shocked her, he must, otherwise it would be no big deal for her to whip her top off in front of him and let him see her bra.
Whatever Bennett had made her feel, he made her feel something else. Or maybe it was just the fact that she felt it with him that she found off-putting. But he would take it. He would take being different.
He would take it and go from there. Because by the time he was done with her, she was going to be screaming his name and never remember if she had cried out anyone else’s.
He reached out, put both hands on her shoulders and then slid them down her arms, taking her hands in his, squeezing them. Her eyes met his, and they were suspiciously bright, but he ignored that. Because he wanted to focus on that deep, taut ache in his groin, and not the tightness in his chest.
Then he pulled her to him, bringing her heart against his chest, relishing the feel of all that skin pressed against him, her bare back beneath his hands. And he still had his clothes on. She still had her bra on.
He had to get a grip. Or he was going to lose it in about thirty seconds flat and not be able to make good on that promise to make this memorable. Well, it would be memorable, but not in the way that he had meant it.
Of course, in that case, he could spread her out on his floor and make a feast of her until he was hard again.
That thought did nothing to help him rein in his libido. Not at all.
He kissed her. Kissed her like it was going to save them both, even though odds were it would only ruin them. Kissed her because he wanted to. And she wanted him.
Olivia Logan. She was going to be his. His finally. He was done pretending that he hadn’t wanted it since she was eighteen years old. Since it was legal, but messed up enough to make him lose every friend and associate in good standing in the town of Gold Valley.
He had wanted her. And he had resisted.
He told himself he wasn’t good with resistance, but he had resisted her for the past seven years. Because she was better than him, and then had belonged to a better man than him.
But tonight he didn’t want to be a better man; he just wanted to be the man she was with. Tonight, he was going to bring her down to his level, get that halo a little dirty, and maybe she would regret it later. It was entirely possible what he’d said about not being worth it was true. Not for a long-term investment.
But he’d make it good. He’d make it good for both of them. Make it worth that wait.
That long, impossible wait that he had reached the end of. He didn’t have restraint anymore. Didn’t have anything left in him but his desire for her. But the fire in his veins that was about to spark a blaze hot enough to burn them both to the ground.
He lifted one hand from her lower back, brought it around and undid the button on her jeans. Then, he slowly drew the zipper down, sliding his hands back around to grab hold of her bare ass beneath the fabric of her jeans and her panties, then he drew her up hard against him, kissing her as he pressed his hips against hers, letting her feel how hard he was. How much he wanted her.
Damn, she was soft. He squeezed her, not too gently either, because she was in his hands and he was all out of restraint. Restraint that he hadn’t fully appreciated until now. That he hadn’t fully realized he possessed. Funny how being aware of it made it seem unreasonable.
He let his other hand drift up the line of her spine, to the band of her bra. He made quick work of it with one hand, then wrenched the insubstantial fabric down her arms, casting it down to the floor. She sucked in a sharp breath, right in time with his.
He swore, the sound as reverent as a word like that could be. He dragged his thumb over one tightened nipple and Olivia’s head fell back, the motion almost helpless, unconscious. A small, tortured sound of pleasure on her trembling lips as he continued to stroke her.
He pressed his hands down firmly against her lower back, then lowered himself down to his knees, kissing the valley between her breasts, down to the waistband of her pants. She was panting heavily, her stomach rising and falling with each labored breath. He looked up at her, saw that she was watching him with an almost-horrified expression. He treated her to a half smile and slowly peeled one side of her jeans open, then the other, eye level with the lacy white panties she was wearing. Then he slowly pushed the denim down her legs, revealing each inch of skin, torturing himself because part of him kind of liked it. His chest hurt, his throat was dry and part of him wanted to exist in this torment forever.
This place between the hell of wanting her and the heaven of having her.
He could see dark curls through the wispy fabric of her underwear, and he lifted his hand, pressing one fingertip beneath the edge of her panties, tracing a line from her hip bone down between her legs, that crease between her thigh and the most intimate part of her. She gasped, her breathing getting harder, faster as he teased her, as he pressed his finger deeper and found her wet with her desire for him.
He groaned, shifting position, hooking his finger across that filmy fabric and drawing it aside before cupping her in his hand, pressing his middle finger deep, parting her lips so that he could have greater access.
He grabbed her ass with his free hand and dragged her toward him, lowering his head and tasting her deeply as he continued to tease her with his fingers.
She made a short, shocked sound, her hands coming up, grabbing hold of his head, tugging his hair. He ignored her, nuzzling his nose against that most sensitive part of her before sliding his tongue down her crease as he pushed a finger inside of her.
“Luke,” she said, her voice breathless. “You can’t...” She gasped. “You really can’t.” But she was bucking her hips against him, and she might be saying that he couldn’t, but her body was begging him to.
“Sure I can, Liv,” he said, “just watch me.”
He angled his head, tasting her deeply like he had done with her mouth earlier. She was sweeter than he had ever imagined. Better than anything. He could satisfy himself this way for hours. Olivia, under his mouth, under his hands, wet and hot and slick, her internal muscles beginning to pulse around that finger pushed inside of her. She was rocking against him, the sounds she was making increasingly distressed, as if pleasure was a foreign thing, a near enemy.
But then, he wondered if for a woman like Olivia it was. God knew he had practice being out of control. He liked to drink. He liked to have a good time. Control wasn’t always part of the equation. Oblivion mattered to him a hell of a lot more than control. But not Liv. He knew that for sure.
He imagined she liked to be in charge. That she liked to have pleasure on her own terms.
But the hen was in the fox’s house now.
He gripped her more firmly, pulling her harder against his mouth as he increased the pace. And she quit pulling against him and lowered her hands to his shoulders, fingernails digging into his skin as she surrendered. As she gave into him. Into this. Pleasure washed through him, more than he’d ever had without a woman’s hand in his pants. He had no experience with this. With enjoying her pleasure more than he wanted to satisfy his own.
He pressed another finger inside of her and a sharp, intense cry escaped her lips as she rolled her hips forward, as her internal muscles tightened around him, spasmed as her orgasm overtook her. It was sweeter than he remembered it being. Better than that time in his truck. Because he could feel it. Could taste it.
And in the end, he was going to know what it was like to feel all of this need, her hot, wet body, pulsing around him, and that was enough to set him off then and there.
She slumped against him, boneless, and he stood, lifting her up off the ground, holding her in his arms as he walked through the small living area, down the narrow hallway and into his bedroom. Typically, when he hooked up with a woman, they did it over at her place. But his bed was big enough. It would do.
He set her down in the center of his bed, on his well-worn, flannel comforter that looked like a work shirt, and didn’t look near fine enough for Olivia Logan’s pretty, naked body.
But he already knew that he wasn’t good enough. Already knew that he never would be. But she was embracing him, so he didn’t see why the hell he shouldn’t embrace this thing happening between them.
He leaned forward, grabbing the sides of her panties and drawing them down all the way, throwing them to the floor. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, the words thick, difficult to squeeze out of his tightened throat.
She shifted, her knees pressed tightly together, drawing one leg up slightly, as though she was trying to cover that beautiful, shadowed triangle there at the apex of her thighs.
He didn’t even scold her, because every inch of her body was a joy to look at, and there would be plenty of time to examine that part of her later.
He walked around to the side of the bed with his nightstand, opened up the drawer and grabbed the unopened box of condoms inside. He ripped the top off, tearing one condom off the strip of them, and setting it down on the bed. Then he pulled his T-shirt up over his head. She watched him, watched every movement he made, those brown eyes fixed on him, not angry anymore.
Anger might have propelled her here, but it was desire that kept her going now. And even if it meant letting go of all his pride to know that she was at his house, in his bed, to get back at another man... That wasn’t what kept her here.
He undid the button on his jeans, drew the zipper down slowly, and then pushed his pants and his underwear down to the floor. Olivia might be shy, but he wasn’t.
Her eyes widened, her mouth dropping open. “Careful,” he said, “you’re going to make my ego bigger.”
“I don’t think any part of you needs to be bigger,” she said, the words strangled.
Then he joined her on the bed, pressing her back against the mattress, every inch of his skin against every inch of hers. Her thighs parted, as if by instinct, and his erection settled there against her slick skin. He arched his hips forward, moving through her folds, teasing them both.
He shivered, pressing his forehead against hers.
Delicate fingertips came up and pressed against his cheek. “Are you cold?” she asked, her teeth chattering slightly.
“Burning up,” he answered. “How about you.”
“I’m not cold,” she answered, her whole body trembling beneath his.
He held her chin, looked into her eyes, didn’t ignore the sheen of tears in them this time. “You okay?”
She nodded wordlessly. “I want you.”
She said it with that kind of grim determination that let him know this was another Olivia plan, rather than an act of passion. And that was unacceptable. He wanted her back the way she had been in the living room. Boneless and sated and beyond control.
He kissed her, rocking his hips against her again, wrapping his hand around his length, guiding it through her slickness, over her where she was most sensitive, repeating the motion until she was clinging to him, until she was making small sounds of pleasure, like she had done earlier.
He kissed her neck, her collarbone, down to her breasts, sucking one nipple into his mouth, sliding his tongue around that sensitive flesh in time with the motion of his hips. Then he moved on to the other one, drawing a harsh cry from deep inside of her. She was on edge again. And best of all, she wasn’t thinking.
He reached to the side, grabbing the condom packet, tearing it open and rolling the latex over himself before moving back into position between her legs. He pressed his thick head against the entrance to her body, rocking forward slowly.
She gripped his shoulders, then down lower, her hands moving almost frantically as he pressed himself into her. He grabbed hold of her wrists, pushed her hands up overhead, forcing them down to the mattress as he bucked forward, taking her completely, a sound of wrenching pain coming from her as he did.
And that was when he realized that Olivia Logan was a virgin. Or had been, until a second ago.
She wasn’t anymore. Because he was inside of her.
She had been so angry at Bennett that she had gone to give her virginity to Luke.
He couldn’t process that.
On a good day, he wouldn’t be able to process it, but this was a damned great day. He was inside of the woman he had wanted for years, and rational thought wasn’t in his grasp.
She was a virgin.
He was sure that there was something to be angry about in that, but right now all he felt was triumph. Pure masculine, possessive triumph.
He didn’t care what it meant. Not now. Because nothing mattered except having more of her.
All of her.
The only man to ever have this. He shuddered, eased himself out a couple of inches before thrusting back in. She groaned, lowering her head, burying her face in his neck as he tried to establish a rhythm that was gentle enough for her.
“Tell me if it hurts,” he whispered against her lips. “Tell me what you want.”
“Just you,” she said, the words watery, unsteady.
He kept hold of her wrists as he moved inside of her, as he found exactly what she liked, listening to the sounds she made, paying attention to the subtle ways the movements of her body changed as he found ways to make contact with the source of her pleasure.
And then he could feel her release beginning to build again. He was familiar with it now. And he couldn’t hold back his own any longer. His control snapped completely as she shivered and shuddered beneath him, her internal muscles pulsing around him as she climaxed, deeper and more intense than last time.
His blood roared in his ears, his restraint gone completely. He forgot to be gentle. He forgot to hold her steady. He let go of her wrists, held on to her hips and pounded himself into her, conscious now of nothing beyond his own need. This need that he had held back in his truck, against the tree, earlier in the living room.
The moment he had become conscious that she was a woman. A woman that he wanted. A woman he couldn’t have.
But he was having her. He was having Olivia Logan right there in his bed, in his shitty cabin that was hardly fit for company. And she had been incandescent with pleasure in his arms.
He came on a growl, digging his fingers more firmly into her hips, knowing that he might leave marks behind, not able to do anything to stop himself. He should have been more gentle with her. From the beginning.
But this was all part of him living up to the only promises he had ever made her. That he wouldn’t be good enough. That he wasn’t right for a woman like her.
But none of it mattered. None of it mattered at all as pleasure burst through him like a bomb.
He could only hope it didn’t blow them both to pieces.