Chapter Three
The whole town turned out for the groundbreaking. They stood in a ragtag half-circle around the backhoe—all twenty-eight of them. Pastor Kent’s children bounced up and down like popcorn in a kettle. The youngest kept toddling toward the giant wheels hoping to touch one and had to be dragged back and finally pinned in his mother’s hold.
Anya smiled at each happy face. This was exactly what she’d hoped for by coming to Los Vista. The townspeople held a light of hope in their eyes, and she, along with Wydell’s vision, had put it there.
Okay, so he still wasn’t very happy about building tiny houses, but it seemed in the past few days they’d come to an understanding.
Wydell stood off to the side with some men who were almost as large as him. Garrett she already knew but she hadn’t been introduced to the others, or the striking brunette who hung close to them.
Anya watched the woman carefully. She spoke to the guys as if she’d known them all for years. When she bumped shoulders with Wydell he said something to her and they both laughed.
Looking away, Anya focused on the people closest to her. She’d gotten to know a few of them, and Mrs. Fletcher had invited her in for a cold drink after she’d seen Anya strolling the barren streets one evening. Since she’d recently gotten a new trailer, they spent the next hour comparing styles and comforts. Anya had also shared her latest annoyances with the press. They were calling her phone at all hours looking to set up interviews. And she had a feeling before long that they’d be popping into town.
Chatter increased as the backhoe operator hopped into the cab with a huge grin, ready to get started. Anya clasped her hands and bounced on her toes. Across the distance, she caught Wydell staring at her. A spike of excitement hit her belly and continued much, much lower. As soon as she offered a smile, he broke from his group and crossed the lot to her.
The man didn’t walk—he strutted. Every part of him seemed to move independently, but as a whole they were something to behold. Everything about him was chiseled, hard and downright lickable.
Wait. She had no business thinking such a thing. Not now. She redirected her attention from his thighs straining against his jeans to his face.
That was worse.
He looked as though he could eat her alive. This intense stare was nothing like the one where he seemed to drift off in his own thoughts. She steeled herself to keep from falling over as he reached her side.
“Big day.”
“Yes,” she answered. The people cheered as the backhoe scoop lifted and poised.
“You should say a few words.”
His suggestion made her mental wheels jam. “What? Me?”
“Sure. This is all your doing, sweetheart. I mean Anya.” The way he corrected himself made her think he might be distancing himself for a reason. Like the beautiful brunette he’d been talking to.
She looked toward the woman, who’d attached herself to one of the men. He slid an arm around her waist and tugged her close. She whispered something into his ear, then kissed him on the lips.
Relief washed over Anya, though she had no intelligent reasoning for why.
“I-I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to say something. Why don’t you?”
Before either of them could decide, it was over. The backhoe scooped the dirt and dumped it to the side. The crowd cheered. Though Wydell looked a bit uptight—his jaw clenched and his focus locked on the backhoe. A guy shouted to the operator and when he responded with a shout of his own, Wydell flinched.
Sensing something was bothering him, she placed a hand on his arm.
Wydell blinked down at Anya. For a bone-melting second she feared he might try to kiss her. He blinked and his eyes cleared. He held up a hand for her to high-five. She wasn’t really a high-five sort of girl, but what the hell? She should celebrate.
When she smacked her palm off his, his fingers briefly curled around hers before letting go.
Her mind spun. Why did he do that? Was she supposed to have returned the gesture?
“Good luck, you two,” someone said. She nodded and several more people came to speak to them about the project before moving on. Wydell introduced her to his group of friends, but they didn’t stick around.
Anya stood alone with Wydell. The backhoe continued to work, evening it out so they could lay a cement foundation the house would sit on.
She turned to him. “We need something to celebrate!”
“Well I’ve got a six-pack in my truck.”
She wanted to wrinkle her nose. Beer? She wasn’t a beer girl either.
“I’ll just get my bag.” She’d left her bag near the edge of the property and fetched it. By the time she returned, Wydell had a six-pack in hand. It was spangled with dew, and she had to admit it looked inviting.
He popped the top and handed it to her.
“You drink first,” she said.
With a crooked smile that melted her insides, he freed a can and one-handedly cracked it open. Before he took a drink, she whipped her surprise out of her bag and popped the cork.
A wall of flesh hit her hard. She was thrown to the ground and smothered beneath muscle, boots and rough stubble.
Wydell looked around wildly, his eyes far away once again. He plastered her to the earth, almost shielding her.
“What the…?” She tried to shift free, but he pinned her more firmly. His breath grew labored and the pulse tripped erratically in his neck. She made a noise that drew his head up.
They stared into each other’s eyes for ten full heartbeats. Then his eyes cleared. Redness mottled his throat and climbed his face to his hairline. Before he could push away, she hooked her finger in the chain she’d glimpsed around his neck and tugged.
Dog tags slithered out of his collar.
Wydell Jackson had yet another side. He wasn’t just a cowboy-hat wearing manual laborer who was skilled as a draftsman.
He was a Marine suffering from PTSD.
* * * * *
Reality returned to Wydell’s mind, replacing the insanity of flying bullets and screams. Throwing Anya to the ground had been instinct, but now he felt like an ass.
“I probably got your dress dirty.” He levered away from her, but she closed her fingers around his shoulder, holding his gaze prisoner as much as he was holding her body.
The understanding he read in those wide blue eyes was too much for him. He swooped in—and claimed those glossy lips, even as she was coming to meet his.
Flavors burst as he parted them with his tongue and plunged into the hot recesses of her mouth. She moaned. He groaned. Angling his head, he edged deeper even as he rested his hips against hers.
Again and again he teased her tongue with his own, slowly unraveling her. She wiggled restlessly, and his cock couldn’t get any harder. It was pure steel ready to burst his fly. He rocked his hips, and she met him with a bucking motion.
He ripped his mouth away just as she raised her thigh to press into his side. “Jesus.” Knowing her warm, wet pussy was right there sent him careening. “I can’t stop.” He captured her lips again.
“Then don’t.” she murmured, chasing his tongue around his mouth with a boldness that thrilled the hell out of him.
The noise of the backhoe roused him seconds later, and he realized they were out in the open, grinding and kissing. Panting, he did a pushup and leapt to his feet. She sat up slowly, a little dazed.
Damn, she really was a beautiful woman. And he wanted her bad.
Extending a hand, he gave her a smile he felt all the way to the toes of his boots. How long had it been since he’d shared a spark like that with anyone? Too long. “C’mon,” he rumbled.
She placed her hand in his and let him pull her to her feet. Her sundress swirled down to cover her round thighs, and he wasn’t finished looking at them. He led her across the lot.
“Where are we going?”
“Twinkie-mobile.” He didn’t wait for her to answer—just opened the door, picked her up and put her inside. When he stuffed himself through the door and closed it, they stared at each other.
She launched herself into his arms. With a growl, he lifted her and stomped across the trailer to the little bed. Wood had been built up around the sides, giving the feeling of a ship’ hull. He got her inside and followed her, pressing her down, down, down into all those pillows.
She arched up to kiss him, knocking off his hat. He kicked at his boots until they thumped out onto the floor. She rocked her pussy against his erection, leaving them both breathless.
“This is crazy.” Her voice was raspy.
“You wanna stop?” Now was the time. Any more of this and he was a goner.
She stared at his lips. “No.”
He attacked her again. Swiping his tongue through her sweet mouth and cupping her breast through her sundress. The peak was a hard pebble under his palm, and he coaxed a low cry from her, which fueled his fires more.
“Get out of this shirt,” she rasped, tearing at his buttons. The pearls parted and he maneuvered so she could pull off the sleeves. Pressure built in his groin and spread like wildfire through his system.
When she hooked her leg around his back, he had to grind his teeth against the urge to blow. No, no, no. He was damn well going down between her thighs and taste her honey before he pounded his way to ecstasy.
She yanked at his hair, drawing her back to her kiss-swollen lips. “Don’t stop.”
“You couldn’t tear me away, sweetheart.”
* * * * *
As soon as Anya skimmed that heated muscle with her hands, she threw away all caution. There weren’t any brakes on this train.
She took in the chiseled lines of his body. Broad shoulders, sculpted chest. His abs were made for tasting. When she tentatively touched the twisted skin of his burn, their eyes met. His mouth became solemn, as if he were waiting for her to scream and run away.
She leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to one spot that edged over his side.
A shudder ran through him, and his voice came, gritty, to answer her unasked question. “Explosion. I wasn’t close enough to take much of a hit, but this laid me up for a coupla weeks.”
Unable to imagine the horrors he must have lived through, her throat tightened. She pressed a line of kisses from his side and up over his arm. He remained completely still while she did, until she darted across his chest and bit his nipple.
A growl left him, and the game was on again. His hands roved over her side and down to her thigh. When he parted her legs and hooked his finger in her panties, she stopped breathing. She waxed regularly, but would he like it?
He dragged her panties down her hip and plunged his fingers between her legs.
She cried out as he met wet, swollen flesh, and he issued a harsh groan.
He liked it.
“Jesus, you’re slippery. Fuck.” He slid down her body and tugged off her panties. Her dress went next.
“My boots are still on.”
His eyes were hot with lust. “They’re sexy as hell.”
A thrill went through her, but it was nothing compared to the moment when he dropped his head between her thighs and delivered a long, slow lick to her pussy.
Her inner walls clenched and released. Need mounted as he dipped his tongue into her. She clutched his head, watching his eyes darken as he tasted her.
“Fucking delicious. I knew it.”
His words rocked her. He’d been thinking about tasting her? Oh God. She sank her fingers into the soft whorls of his hair and guided him. He dragged his tongue upward. When he found her swollen bud, she bucked against his mouth. He latched on and sucked with the exact pressure she craved.
“Just like that. Ffffuck.”
His laugh bubbled over her skin. “Didn’t know beauty queens could cuss like that.”
“Do you see a fucking tiara?” She pushed against his lips and tongue, taking what she needed. Her eyes closed in bliss, but she popped them open again. She’d spent plenty of time watching his muscles while he worked and his face as he examined plans with her. But watching him take her with his mouth was the most erotic thing she’d ever seen.
He dragged his stubble over her flesh, igniting her further. She climbed, fingers twisting in his hair. She rocked again.
“Use me. Take what you want,” he grated out before diving in again. Her pussy throbbed and juices slipped over his mouth. With a slow flip of his tongue, he sent her over the edge.
Her orgasm rushed up fast, shooting her into the stars higher and faster than she’d ever been before. Her pussy contracted four, five times.
He was gone from her all too soon, doing one of those pushups that only a soldier could. With a fire in his eyes, he grabbed her hand and thrust it between her legs.
“Bury your fingers in your pussy. Keep comin’ on your fingers, sweetheart.”
She knew just what to do. Her orgasm stretched on for what felt like ages as he stripped off his clothes and rolled a condom onto his long, thick cock.
“Ohhhh.” Her moan sounded rough and strange to her ears.
He started to position himself between her thighs and bashed his shin off the side of the bed nook. “Damn.” He righted himself and smacked his elbow. That brought a yowl from him that made her giggle.
“Funny bone?”
“Not even remotely funny.”
She cupped his elbow and gave it a rub while reaching for another body part to give it a soft tug. When she encircled his cock with her fingers, he stopped moaning about his elbow.
His eyes rolled back in his head as she learned every vein on his length. She watched his handsome face contort in bliss. Roughly, he grabbed her wrist. “Stop. I can’t hold out.”
When he dragged her close, several pillows toppled over her face. They batted at them wildly, and he rifled two out of the nook.
“Maybe all these pillows aren’t a good idea.” She needed his hard cock inside her. Deep. Now.
“I’ll clear them out. C’mere, wench.” A sideways grin accompanied his words. He cupped her ass and drew her up to meet his thrust. He kissed her as each inch slid home, and stole her mind.
She locked her arms and legs around Wydell’s strong body and let him carry her to the finish line. His kisses tasted like her, which was crazy-hot. When he dragged his length through her tight inner walls, he hit a spot that made her moan. He did it again. And again.
Breaking from the kiss to watch her face, he fucked her with a slow, maddening precision. “Come for me. I know you’re on the edge.”
His voice seemed directly linked to her body. He shoved deep. Hard. And bent to suck her nipple into his mouth at the same time.
Small screams erupted from her, and her mind flew.
She soared as he bit into her nipple. Need gripping her, she drew him closer and felt him stiffen. His muscles rolled as he pistoned his hips. Eyes darkening, his features chiseled in granite.
“I’m coming.” His roar reverberated in her ears, and his body was rock-hard. For a solid minute he pumped liquid heat into her while he gazed into her deeply.
When she returned to earth, her limbs were heavy and her mind sluggish. The minute she focused on his serious expression, she realized what she’d done.
Regret washed over her, and his face reflected it.
With a grunt, he rolled off—and bashed his head hard. “Jesus Christ!”
She floundered in the sea of pillows, reaching for him. He clutched his head, biting off curses. When he parted his fingers over his skull, she saw blood.
Her head swam, but she pushed through it. “You’re cut.”
“I know. Dammit.” He flailed free of the nook, dragging several pillows and a coverlet with him. She sat up to see the big, naked, angry cowboy grab his shirt and press it to his head.
“Wait. You’ll stain your shirt.”
He eyed her darkly. “Should I use your dress?”
This couldn’t happen again. They got on each other’s nerves. Practically the only time they’d gotten along since they’d met was when he was buried balls-deep in her.
Her body ached in all the right places, and she had to admit she was satisfied like never before. But at what cost?
“Let me get you a cold cloth.” She got out of bed, dragging a sheet around her toga-style, and took a few steps to the little bathroom. There, she ran a fluffy washcloth beneath the faucet.
By the time she was finished, he’d put his boxers and jeans back on. His fly hung open, though, revealing his erection was still fully present.
She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dried out. She offered the washcloth, and he stuck it against his head.
They stared at each other.
After several heartbeats, he said quietly. “This probably shouldn’t happen again.”
“No, it shouldn’t.” She was relieved he was in agreement.
“Okay then. We both have stuff to do. You need to make those calls to the bank and I need to contract the cement truck. I’ll see you around.” With his shirt, boots and socks in hand, he left the Airstream without a backward glance.
She watched his fine ass go, aware her brow was creased with the confusion she felt.
Still clad in only a sheet and boots, she fell back into bed and tried not to relive every moment of that big, delicious mistake.
* * * * *
“Where the hell’s your head today, Wydell?” Garrett’s teasing tone cut through his haze and he snapped his attention back to his friend.
Years at war and he’d never felt so fucked up as he did right now. Anya’s sweet little moans and her plush curves had a hold on him. He shook himself and focused on the twisted mass of rubble he and Garrett were clearing.
Before this he’d talked with a plumber who used to be a Los Vista resident and scheduled him to come and lay the network of pipes in the crawl space of the first tiny home. Then he and the guys would be erecting walls. Between the four of them, they should be able to have the framework built in half a day.
Because the house is the size of a shoebox.
He didn’t know whether to growl in frustration with Anya or laugh at her absurd idea to build these little houses. Either way, it was her money.
But it was his town. If this failed, they were left with places nobody wanted to buy and the place would still have a population of twenty-eight. Twenty-nine with Anya, but she wouldn’t be sticking around. She’d soon pull her silver Twinkie out of town and stop giving him such a raging hard-on.
Fat chance of that. He’d never forget every stroke of his cock in her tight little pussy.
“My head’s not on straight today. Sorry.” Wydell jerked his chin toward the wooden beam that needed to be lifted off the mess they were trying to untangle.
Garrett grabbed the other end and Wydell used the center point to lever it up and away. With two harsh grunts, they rolled the beam off. The accomplishment had them exchanging a grin. Just like old times with the two-man mortar after a particularly good shot.
Funny how thoughts of war could rip away his control, like when that champagne cork had popped. Or they could center him, like now.
They worked until sweat poured down their faces and necks. He had too many distractions, though. As soon as the thought of Anya’s round thighs riding high on his hips hit his mind, he pushed harder. When he imagined the silken flip of her tongue over his, he worked faster.
“Bro, ease up. What’s the rush?” Garrett stared at him. That look he wore was too similar to the one he’d had after seeing Wydell’s raw, burned flesh.
He rubbed his gloved hand over his forearm and shook his head. “Just want to get this done.”
“So you can get back to Miss Texas?”
He pushed a breath through his nose. “No. She and I aren’t cut out for each other.”
“Why’s that?” Garrett’s casual tone didn’t fool him—not after watching each other’s backs for so many years. Still, Wydell humored him.
“For one, she’s prissy. Know-it-all.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah. She’s difficult to work with.”
“A woman who knows her mind isn’t a bad thing. Especially one who has a lot of money. She doesn’t seem to be squandering it with one of those big Southern parties on a yacht.”
He rubbed his finger beneath his nose. “No. But this tiny house idea might be a huge mistake and a waste of money. And a waste of my time.”
“Is that what you’re worried about? Not having enough time to do this shit?” Garrett tossed a heavy chunk of metal toward the dumpster and missed.
“You know we have contracts to clear five more lots and we’ll soon be setting those walls. Not to mention work at Brodie’s.”
“I’m pretty sure Brodie and Danica can handle it. They work well together.”
He considered his friend’s words. Why couldn’t he and Anya be like that? They weren’t meant to be a couple, but at least they could get through the bullshit and work together.
He pictured her face, alive with excitement, as the backhoe was getting ready to break ground. She’d worn a glow he couldn’t look away from.
And all that thick blonde hair had felt as good in his hands as he’d fantasized.
Fuck. Just get her out of your head.
He drove himself to the point of exhaustion and still he couldn’t stop himself from throwing looks down the road at the place where her trailer was parked. If he squinted, he could make out the window he’d smacked his head off twice during their romp.
“Why don’t you quit pretending you dislike her and go down there and ask her for some lunch?” Garrett emphasized the last word, sending brand new dirty thoughts careening through Wydell’s head.
“Fuck off.”
“If a pretty little thing like that eyed me the way she does you, I wouldn’t be digging through this crap.”
“That’s disgust you’re seeing. We don’t remotely get along.”
“Mares bite the stallions before they let them mount them.” Garrett didn’t look at him as he said this. He just kept working. Great, now all of their head-butting seemed like foreplay.
Time to change the topic or else Garrett would keep hounding him. “You heard anything from Boyd?”
Their friend wasn’t staying in Los Vista like he, Garrett and Brodie were. His family had set up house in the neighboring town and word was his parents had found jobs relatively quick. It worried all of them that Boyd would settle outside of town too, but nobody voiced it. After all these years, it was difficult being split up.
It was hard enough knowing one of them was missing. Matt’s loss would forever weigh on them.
Instead of hearing the birds flitting around, Wydell’s ears were filled with shots. The grating noise of tank tracks. Screams.
Pressing his lips into a firm line, he looked around and found Garrett staring at him again.
“What? Get back to work.”
“When’re you going to get some help for that?” Garrett asked.
“If anybody else asked me that, I’d kick their ass.”
“I’m not just anybody.”
“No, and you’re lucky. Water break.” His throat was desiccated from the sands and hot, dry air in his imagination. They carefully picked their way out of the mess they were working in and went to the back of Garrett’s truck, where they each had a few jugs of water.
Wydell’s clothes stuck to him and he couldn’t stop himself from looking longingly at Anya’s air-conditioned trailer. He should get a grip. Of course, he was only thinking about cooling off, not about heating things up with her again.
He chugged enough water to quench his thirst, then leaned against the tailgate and backhanded the sweat from his eyes. “I think we can finish this today.”
“I thought you had to meet the plumber.”
“I do.”
“I can work on this alone.” Garrett’s odd tone brought Wydell’s head around.
“What?”
“Go on and talk to her, Hard Ass.”
For a long, pumping heartbeat, he considered it. Just walk down the road and open that trailer door. It would be easy. Launch inside and catch Anya in his arms, bearing her down on that fluffy mattress.
After he rifled all the pillows out.
His jaw set. “No, I’m good. I’ve had my fill of beauty queen this week.”
He suspected the opposite was true, though. He hadn’t had nearly enough. When it came to Anya, he feared a lifetime with her wouldn’t be enough.