Chapter Four
Anya had to do something about her urge to look down the road toward the site where Wydell was working. He was nothing but a tiny speck, but knowing it was a muscled, gorgeous hunk of a speck made her body rev.
She leaned over and inhaled the fragrance of the wildflowers in her vase. They were beginning to wilt and a few petals had dropped. She swept them into her hand and tossed them in the wastebasket.
The decision to come to a town where there was absolutely nothing to do—besides look at sexy men doing manual labor—had been a poor one. She was bored. Sure, she had her own internet service and could watch thousands of movies or crush some digital candy until she had carpal tunnel. But no, she wanted to lie in bed beside a certain cowboy Marine and let him do bad things to her.
Under her tank top, her flesh felt hot and sticky despite the air conditioning. Her nipples ached for a touch she wouldn’t—shouldn’t—ever have again.
Why not? Her libido had a mind of its own, but she chose to ignore it.
She went to the window and twitched the checkered curtain aside. Wydell’s and Garrett’s trucks were parked down the road as two small figures worked to remove the rubble that had once been a home.
Letting the curtain fall back into place, she threw herself into the chair. Watching the insufferable man wouldn’t help calm her raging hormones. No, she was throbbing for more.
Her gaze fell over the plan he’d hand-drawn for the first tiny home. The prospect of building it excited her almost as much as his hands on her body.
Stop.
She dragged the plan closer and looked at the details he’d added. Storage and enough counter space so the owner wouldn’t feel deprived. She’d done something similar when re-designing her Airstream. She had enough room to prepare a Thanksgiving dinner if she wanted.
Maybe that was exactly what she should do—cook a huge dinner for some of the kind townspeople. The Kents and Mrs. Fletcher. And if Wydell happened to come by, well, I won’t turn him away.
She shook herself and got up to rummage through her few cupboards and the refrigerator. She didn’t have enough food to throw such a party, so she set about making a list. The next town wasn’t very far away, so she’d unhitch the truck and drive in.
While she was at it, she’d better ask Wydell if he needed any supplies. She couldn’t pick up I-beams or a pallet of lumber, but she could get small stuff.
Like condoms.
The thought gave her pause. What was the harm in sleeping with him, really? Sure, they didn’t get along, but their bodies got on just fine. Maybe this could be an frenemies-with-benefits thing.
A giggle bubbled from her. If her granny could hear her now, she’d climb out of her grave and slap her silly.
There was no harm in asking him if he needed something from town, though. With her list in hand, she grabbed her purse and left the trailer. She could have walked the distance to where Wydell was working, but somehow three tons of steel between the two of them seemed best. She drove to the site.
He glanced up, his face blanking.
Her heart did a painful crunch as if it’d been thrown under the tires. But she recovered and lifted her chin. “I’m heading into town. Do you need anything?”
She hadn’t come to ask Garrett, but that was rude, so she included him. A crooked smile tugged at his lips, and he swiped it off his face with a gloved hand. “Not for me, Miss Anya.”
Wydell threw the object he was holding—some twisted chunk of metal—and hit the dumpster squarely. She flinched at the crash and started to roll her window up.
“Wait.” He climbed out of the wreckage and came toward her truck, all rolling muscles and animal sex appeal. Her nipples hardened and a deep flutter found a home in her belly.
She rolled down her window again and waited. Fighting to control her rapid breathing. She wouldn’t let him see how he affected her, but damn if the look on his face didn’t say he already knew.
His eyes hooded and he leaned one dusty forearm on the edge of her door. Leaning in, he brought a whiff of hardworking male with him—clean sweat and that essence of Wydell that she could practically still taste.
“You got a pen and paper?” he asked.
“Um, sure.” She rummaged in her console and handed them both.
He scribbled something and passed them back. “There’s a nice hotel in town. Nothing luxurious, but I’m sure you’ll be comfortable there.”
She blinked at him. “What?”
“You’re going there to stay, right?”
Irritation rolled through her. “No, I’m going after supplies. It’s why I asked if you needed anything. Why would I drive into town to stay at a hotel after asking if you need me to pick anything up for you?”
He didn’t push away from the door but his brow lowered like a storm cloud. Probably similar to the one that wiped out this town.
“I figured you’d be fed up with sitting around doing nothing. A woman like you probably needs a social life.”
“Ugh. I don’t know what you imagine my life to be, but you’re very wrong, Wydell. Now do you need me to pick up anything for the house or not?”
“No.” Why did his voice sound so strangled?
“Fine.” She raised her voice. “Garrett, you sure I can’t bring you back a six-pack for after all this thirsty work?”
He looked up, smiling from beneath the brim of his hat. “Sure, Anya. That’d be mighty nice of you.”
She threw him a wave and started rolling up her window despite Wydell’s thick arm resting on it. He moved back, looking stormier than he had even a minute ago. Without a word, she put the truck in drive and did a wide U-turn to set her on the road back out of Los Vista.
All the way to the neighboring town, she fought with Wydell in her head. Imaginary arguments that ended just as badly as the ones in person. What was wrong with her? He wasn’t worth wasting a second of her time on.
But when she got to the supermarket and started loading the cart with the items on her list, he seemed to trail her throughout the store. She could almost hear him at her ear. “You’re buying real bacon? I figured you for the turkey bacon type. Or tofu.”
“Shut up,” she said aloud to the nonexistent Wydell. Two old ladies looking in the meat case threw her annoyed glances and skittered away.
Great. She was acting psycho. She found the fixings she needed to create her momma’s turkey dinner with trimmings, including sausage stuffing and green bean casserole with crumbled bacon.
Wydell’s voice nagged her all the way to the beer cooler, where she was apparently choosing the wrong beer for a working man like Garrett. Even looking at the Pabsts Blue Ribbon made Wydell snort “He’s not a hipster, sweetheart” in her head. She repressed a growl and set several varieties in her shopping cart. Whatever Garrett didn’t want she’d serve to her guests. And she’d make a big pitcher of sweet tea for the Kent kids and Mrs. Fletcher.
After lugging her purchases to the truck, she got behind the wheel and blasted her favorite Miranda Lambert music, singing along loudly to drown out Wydell’s voice.
Why did he have such a hold on her? So what if he’d blown her mind over and over again that night? He was nothing special.
Except the way he sometimes tuned out the world, staring into space like a lost boy, tugged at her heartstrings. She wanted to wrap him in her arms and stroke his hair until he got through the rough patch and the memories faded.
“Dammit.” She cranked the music higher and focused on what she’d prepare first. With a kitchen as small as hers, she’d have to be methodical about this dinner. She couldn’t fit all of it in the small oven at the same time, and the turkey breasts needed to be in there the longest. Good thing she’d purchased pies instead of trying to bake them.
She’d just lugged it all inside when a knock at her trailer door had her on high alert. Goosebumps broke over her body as she turned to the door. Was it Wydell? If he came into her space, there was no way she could stop herself from touching him. Not with all the thoughts running rampant through her mind.
Holding her breath, she cracked the door, expecting to see chiseled muscles and his damn angular jaw.
She glanced down at the tow-headed child standing there instead. “Hi there. Robbie, is it?”
“Yes’m. Robbie Kent. My momma sent me over to see if you’ll come for supper tonight.”
Anya stared across the vacant town to the place where the Kents were set up with tents and cook fires. They were living on so little yet they were generous enough to invite her to share their meal.
Tears prickled her eyes, and she sucked in a deep breath to hold them at bay. “Robbie, I’ll let you in on a secret.”
His eyes widened, as blue as the sky he was silhouetted against. “A secret?”
“Yes, I’m making a big meal with turkey and all the fixin’s. I planned to invite all of you and Mrs. Fletcher over here to share it with me. Will you tell your momma I said thank you but dinner is at my place tonight?”
Robbie nodded enthusiastically and then peered into the trailer behind her. “How will you fit all of us in here?”
She laughed. “Well, that is a problem. Any ideas?”
“We could carry some benches and our tables over. My brothers and I are strong.”
“You look very strong, and that would be perfect. Tell your family to come around six?”
“I will! See you then, Miss Anya.” He hopped off like a frog filled with jumping beans, and she watched him run back home. The kindness of strangers had never hit her so close to home. Here in Los Vista, she wasn’t an heiress sitting on millions just waiting to give it away. No, she was treated like a real human being.
She had to admit, even though Wydell thought of her as a princess, he hadn’t treated her like one in bed. He’d taken what he wanted and made no excuses for his rough touches and bruising kisses.
Her body started to hum all over again. She tossed a look toward the site where Wydell was still working. The man was standing still, staring in the direction of her trailer. Or maybe he was just gazing across the lovely land and dreaming of rebuilding it.
She loved his spirit—it had guided her here to help in the first place. She couldn’t imagine coming home from war, beaten and battered and even burned, only to find the home he’d longed for was gone.
Tipping her face back, she looked at the sky that had dropped the weapons of destruction on Los Vista. Not a cloud in the sky today and it was difficult to imagine the black swirling terror that had wrought so much damage.
She had to admit that the early photos Marty had shown her were much worse than the view she was seeing. Wydell and Garrett really had done so much to help their town already. With any luck, she—or her money, rather—would do more good.
She wanted to put a smile in Wydell’s blue-green eyes. The same kind of smile she’d seen when he was buried inside her.
A sigh trickled from her lips, and she turned back inside and closed the door. If she was going to have dinner on for the Kents and Mrs. Fletcher by six, she had some work to do. Maybe cooking would take her mind off the distracting cowboy, but the more she worked the louder his voice in her mind grew.
Apparently the imaginary Wydell was inviting himself to dinner.
* * * * *
With a big country meal of fried chicken and biscuits on the table before him, made by Danica’s own hands, and all of his closest buddies around him, Wydell should have been as happy as a pig in mud.
Instead, he felt like a dog who didn’t get to take a car ride. He held a biscuit but didn’t bring it to his lips. The jam he’d spread inside it dribbled down his palm.
Boyd nudged Brodie. “What’s up with Hard Ass?”
Wydell’s mind came into focus and he licked the jam away. “Nothing’s up.” He bit off a huge chunk of biscuit to keep from answering through his full mouth.
It didn’t work for Garrett. He had no trouble talking with his mouth filled like a chipmunk. “He’s crushing on the Los Vista benefactor.”
“Benefactor?” Boyd looked around the table at them. “You mean that sexy blonde?”
Wydell glared at his friend. “If you’d keep your ass in Los Vista, you’d know.”
“Wydell, Boyd doesn’t have anywhere to stay. His home’s gone and he’s staying with family. You know that,” Brodie said quietly.
“Yeah, but we’re in the same boat and we’re all still here.”
Almost all of us.
Danica looked down at her plate, her eyebrows pinched together. Suddenly, Wydell felt like an ass for hurting her with her brother—the one person who would want to be in Los Vista and couldn’t. “I get that, but there’s work to be done here, Boyd. Why don’t you set up a damn tent like the Kents and help out?”
He lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. What was going on with the man? He looked as if he wanted to crawl out of his skin whenever he was around them.
Either way, Wydell didn’t have time to find out. If Boyd wanted to talk, he knew where to find him. Pushing away from the table, Wydell got to his feet.
Everyone looked up. “What are you doing?” Brodie asked.
“Thank you for the meal, Danica, but I’m not feeling that hungry.”
“Wait, Hard Ass,” Garrett said. “For once we’re all together and Anya did bring me that six-pack she promised.” Garrett jerked his head toward the kitchen where the brews were probably in the fridge alongside some good dessert that Danica had made for them.
Wydell shook his head. “Sorry, guys. I don’t feel like socializing tonight.” He left the big dining room where they’d often gathered as kids around the same long table to eat some hearty meal Brodie’s momma had fixed.
When he got outside, he filled his lungs with the fresh air. Damn, he was on edge, but why? The world felt too small. Hell, even the darkening sky seemed to sit on his shoulders, pressing him down.
In the back of his mind, he knew part of his problem had to do with his friend Boyd and why he’d been staying away from their hometown. It felt as if he’d given up caring, just like most of the rest of Los Vista. With one less person to give a shit, what did they have?
He got in his truck and headed back toward town. Where, though? Maybe he’d turn the headlights on the tiny house site and work until dawn. He had nothing better to do. Sleep sure wasn’t an option.
When he reached town and spotted the gathering outside of Anya’s trailer, a tightness settled in his chest. What was going on there?
Sawhorses and sheets of plywood had been set up outside the trailer, along with some folding tables and benches that had been brought over from the Kents’ tent. The woman seemed to have strung some outdoor lights along the trailer, which glowed like fat fireflies.
As he drove near, she looked up, her face aglow in the twinkly lights and her hair a pale moonbeam. His heart did a wild staccato that left him feeling weak.
She waved for him to come join them.
For a moment, he panicked. Driving on wouldn’t be good for relations with her. But joining her might be worse, especially since he wanted to grab her, bend her over his arm and kiss her like she’d never been kissed before.
He applied the brakes and put the truck in park. It gave a sputter and died before he could cut the engine. For a heartbeat, he stared at his white knuckles around the steering wheel. He wasn’t good company tonight, and putting Anya in the line of fire couldn’t end well.
Mrs. Fletcher came across the turf, a beer in hand and a grin on her face. “Oh it’s my favorite cowboy.”
Well now, he couldn’t just drive away. He got out and greeted the woman with a smile and tug of his hat brim. She insisted on a hug and invited him to find a beer in the cooler.
When he met Anya’s stare, she nodded. “Come join us.”
He looked at the spread, half-devoured on the tables. Platters of turkey and casseroles. A silver pot of gravy that made his stomach growl with thoughts of his momma’s gravy.
“What is all this?” he asked.
She stood close—too close. He could reach out and grab her. But that might result in all the good food being overturned on the ground and the table creaking under their writhing bodies.
Guess the kids had to learn it somewhere.
“I made dinner.” A blush was in her voice. “I’m sorry I didn’t think to invite you.”
He looked into her eyes. With the sun faded to nothing, her eyes were the deepest, darkest blue he’d ever seen. “Why should you invite me?”
“I… Just come and have a plate, Wydell. We can be civil.”
She was right. He accepted a thick paper plate and a seat between Mrs. Fletcher and the oldest Kent daughter. When he asked the little girl how the stuffing tasted, she jammed some into her mouth and gave him a toothy grin.
“It was so kind of Anya to do this for us tonight, wasn’t it, children?” Mrs. Kent asked, smiling at her offspring. They nodded. “So what do you tell her?”
“Thank you for the grub,” Robbie said.
Anya tossed her head back and laughed. The sound so musical, it might have been angels singing. She wore a white, floaty top that didn’t show off her curves nearly enough. What he wouldn’t give to rip the garment off her and look upon her gorgeous body.
His cock started to harden, and he tamped down his desires. Now wasn’t the time or place.
Pastor Kent helped himself to more turkey. “So Wydell, tell us how the construction is going.”
Wydell speared a piece of his own as he answered the man’s question. Anya’s attention was glued to him as he spoke, which only made him burn more. When he finished, he popped the turkey on his fork into his mouth.
Flavors burst in his head, and he moaned.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” Mrs. Fletcher rested a hand on his arm. “I asked Anya’s secret, and she said it was all in the rub.”
The word rub set Wydell off. Visions of her nimble fingers riding over his skin, down to encircle his erection—
“Yes, it’s very good.” He flicked a glance at Anya, who seemed lit from the inside by a candle’s glow.
She was distracted by one of the children then, and Wydell filled his stomach with her surprisingly good food. After all, cooking wasn’t a category beauty queens competed in. It was sweet of her to make a meal like this for people who were virtual strangers to her. He might have been hasty in thinking she was a selfish rich bitch. So far her actions weren’t connecting with the image of her he’d formed in his mind.
When nothing but a few crumbs remained on the table, one child asked about pies. Everyone laughed, and Anya raised a glass of what appeared to be sweet tea.
“Before we get to dessert, I’d like to thank all of you for sharing this meal with me. You’ve all had a long road and there are more bumps ahead. It’s why I’d like to do more. From what I see, we need a proper church. A place to go on Sunday and rest from the trials of the week.”
Pastor Kent was shaking his head immediately. “You’re doing more than enough for Los Vista, Anya.”
“I won’t take no for an answer. There are plenty of men from this town who would love to volunteer to build you a new church.” She raised a brow at Wydell, and he nodded, his chest filling more than his stomach with all the goodwill here.
“Of course I’m in. My buddies too.” Even Boyd would get on board with this, even if he wasn’t as attached to Los Vista as the rest of them anymore.
“I couldn’t let you do that.” Pastor Kent was choked up, and his wife wrapped her arm around his shoulders and squeezed.
“This is for all of the townspeople, including me,” Anya said. “I’ve already spoken with the lumber mill and the first shipment of wood will be delivered Friday.”
Wydell gaped at her. Damn, she was something special. And his body recognized it too.
Pastor Kent swiped a tear away and then he raised his beer to Anya. Everyone followed, and by the time the man finished with his speech of appreciation and a short prayer for her, they were all wiping away tears.
The pastor’s words seemed to rattle Anya. She got up and disappeared into her Airstream after the pies. Wydell followed her. When he entered the space behind her, her eyes widened. “Please don’t start throwing insults about what I do with my money, Wydell.”
He caught her by the elbows, drawing her near. A stuttering breath left her. “Why would I do that? What you did was selfless and kind.”
Before she could say anything, he kissed her. Pulled her on tiptoe and plundered her sweet mouth with his tongue. She opened to him with a coo of longing, which only fueled his fire. Pressing his hand to the small of her back, he swayed her against him, letting her feel every hard inch of his arousal.
She angled her head and kissed him with the same hunger he’d been thinking of nonstop. Skating his hand up her hip, he kneaded the hollow of her hipbone. She cried out. Then tore away.
“The pies.” Panting, her eyes twin candles again.
“Don’t tell me you have an old-fashioned pie safe in here.”
“Of course I do. What self-respecting Southern woman doesn’t? It’s by the hot tub.” Her quip made him laugh. Then she shoved two pies into his hands and sent him back out of the Airstream. When she followed with pots of coffee and hot cider for the kids, he couldn’t stop thinking about pinning her to the side of her trailer and pounding into her.
Of course everyone tucked into their slices of pie and then the storytelling began. Pastor Kent told a story from his youth, which spurred his kids to do the same. When Mrs. Fletcher got rolling about the old days, Anya listened raptly.
Wydell watched emotions run over face, and he wondered about her upbringing. She sure could cook a damn fine meal, so somebody must have taught her. Her grandmother? A favorite aunt?
Or maybe she was trained by the President of the United States’ own private chef, he mused with a crack of a smile.
When he caught her staring at him, he gave her a nod and wink, but in the darkness with only the twinkle lights she’d strung around them, he didn’t know if she could see. Maybe it was better if she hadn’t.
“Your turn, Wydell. Tell us something about your time in the service.” Mrs. Fletcher’s innocent question made every muscle, joint and tendon in his body stiffen.
The last thing he wanted to discuss was how he’d spent his last four years under gunfire. Fearing for his life and those of his best friends. Being blown up and suffering the pain of third-degree burns.
The day they’d lost Matt.
Swallowing hard around the knot of hot sand in his throat, he looked to Anya. Her beautiful face reflected understanding, and then she jumped in.
“Oh, I have a story. Does anybody want to hear about my prized rabbit that won the county fair?”
The kids squealed. Everyone turned to the head of the table where Anya settled back against her seat and began to tell her tale of fluffy rabbits and blue ribbons.
His mood, usually dark after mention of the war or Marines, didn’t worsen. Instead, he listened to Anya tell the group how much she’d wanted that blue ribbon for her own.
“I groomed Hercules every day. Twice a day. I brushed him so much that pretty soon he started to lose some hair.”
Wydell smiled, imagining a little Anya over-grooming her animal to the point that it started to bald.
“Pretty soon he had a big bald patch and wouldn’t you know it was right before the fair. There wasn’t time to grow it back. I was so worried somebody would see it. I thought about making Hercules sit with his back to the wall when the judges came by to look at him, but then my father told me that they take the rabbits out and place them on a table to look at them from all sides.”
The kids twittered with laughs behind their hands, bred enough to know that laughing outright at someone’s misfortune wasn’t good manners.
But Anya graced them each with a smile. “I was desperate. I had to win that ribbon. I had a place picked out to hang on my wall.”
“What did you do, young lady?” Mrs. Fletcher asked with a scolding tone in her voice.
Anya twisted a strand of hair around her finger as if experiencing the same nerves she’d had in childhood. “Well, my mother had a fur coat…”
“Oh no,” Mrs. Kent groaned.
Anya nodded and caught Wydell staring. Even with the darkness turning her tanned skin bronze, he knew she was blushing. When she pursed her lips, the dimple played in and out of her cheek.
“So I sneaked into my mother’s closet and stole the jacket.”
“Stealing is bad,” one of the kids piped up.
She nodded. “It really is, and I was a naughty child for taking the jacket without my mother’s permission. But the worst thing was that the fur on the jacket wasn’t even white. It was brown. But I figured if I glued a little patch to my rabbit, everybody would think he was a speckled rabbit.”
Wydell couldn’t hold back a snort of laughter. Anya’s eyes danced as she finished her story.
“I cut a hunk of fur off the sleeve and a bottle of superglue and fixed my rabbit. But I never got Hercules in front of the judges. As soon as my daddy saw what I’d done and my mom discovered her ruined coat, I was in deep trouble. But the worst part was poor Hercules had that superglue on his skin and had to go to the vet.”
“Was he okay?” Mrs. Fletcher asked.
“Yes, they used some dissolvent for glue and he was fine. But I got a sound spanking and no dessert for a week.”
“A week? That’s torture,” Robbie said with his mouth full of a second slice of apple pie.
She nodded. “It was horrible. I never, ever stole or lied again. And I definitely never did anything bad to an animal again.”
Looking at her down the length of the table, wreathed in the glow of the lighting and in the spotlight of everyone there, Wydell saw what a fine woman she was. Elegant, smart and bold. And empathetic.
She’d come to the rescue of a town simply because she believed she could help. And she’d come to his aid too, sensing his hesitation to talk about the military.
He got up from the table and started clearing plates. She stared at him for a moment and then stood too. Before long, everyone had pitched in. The ladies insisted on washing the dirty pots and pans Anya had used, and Wydell helped Pastor Kent and some of his older kids haul the tables and benches back to his camp.
“Anya’s a treasure to our town,” the man said.
Wydell nodded. “Seems so.”
“I feel I shouldn’t accept the church donation though.”
Wydell squeezed his shoulder. “You most definitely should. She’s right—this is for the town, not just your family. But it seems to me there will be enough space for a family to make a home in the back rooms.”
They shared a smile. “I can’t lie and say the idea of sleeping off the ground doesn’t appeal.”
“No doubt. I’ve been in the same situation.” It was as much as Wydell would say about sleeping rough while on watch all night, waiting for a strike.
By the time Wydell strolled back to the Airstream, Anya was just returning from walking Mrs. Fletcher home. When she spotted Wydell, she threw up her hands.
He stopped walking and his stomach knotted. Hell, he’d been presumptuous in coming here. She probably wanted him far, far away from her. He turned to go.
“Wydell, wait.”
He swung back. “Seems you’re ready for me to go.”
“No, I was only mad at myself for leaving Mrs. Fletcher’s plate of leftovers in my trailer.”
Some of the tension eased from him, but not all. Especially not in his Wranglers. His jeans were swelling with every step she took in his direction.
When she walked right up to stand before him, he couldn’t pretend he hadn’t hung around to tuck her into bed.
“Why don’t you let me walk you home?” he whispered, leaning over her.
She inched closer, and he felt more than saw a shiver pass through her. “I’d like that, cowboy.”
He jolted at the term she’d used. He hadn’t thought of himself as anything but Hard Ass, Corporal in the United States Marine Corp. “Cowboy?”
“Yeah.” She flicked the brim of his hat, sending it tumbling from his head. Ignoring it, he grabbed her with a growl.
“Let’s go for a ride, sweetheart.” With that, he picked her up and pushed into the Airstream. “We’ll get this trailer rockin’.”
* * * * *
Anya brushed against Wydell’s big, strong body like a kitten begging for affection. She practically purred as he slid his hands over her breasts to her waist and finally settled on her hips.
In one tug, she was flush against his thickened cock. Her pussy gave a squeeze of invitation even before he kissed her.
A wild kiss of total abandon. He cupped her face like a precious chalice, his tongue stretching deep into her mouth to take what he wanted.
She mewled and went on her tiptoes to get closer to his heat. Tonight had been more about liking each other and less about hormones, but she didn’t take the time to think about that. She wanted him.
Breaking away, he tipped her head to the side. and pressed soft kisses along the column of her throat, murmuring dirty things between each peck. “Gonna strip off this floaty white blouse and see what’s underneath.” One strong kiss, followed by another. “Then pull your pretty breasts out of your bra and suckle each tip until you beg me to come.”
She shuddered and gripped his shoulders tighter, drawing him closer.
A nibbling kiss that turned her inside out. “I’ll nestle my fingers between your folds and let you know who can give you the pleasure you crave.”
“God, yes.” She parted her legs without thinking, urging him to do just that.
“But first, where to take you?” He raised his head and looked around her trailer. “The bed nook and I didn’t get on well before.”
She made a noise, part giggle, part coo. “There’s a shelf up there.” She gestured to a small wooden ledge where she hadn’t gotten around to putting anything on yet.
He nipped her lower lip just hard enough to sting. She dug her fingers into his hair and yanked. The rumble of satisfaction coming from his chest vibrated through her body. He picked her up, hitched her thighs around his hips and shoved her against the nearest wall.
With his cock grinding into her, she threw away all thoughts of how they didn’t belong together. She latched onto his lower lip with her teeth and tugged until he kissed her.
Whoooeee, did he kiss her. Like he’d never stop. Like he couldn’t stop. He rocked his hips in a rhythm that maddened her. She tore at her own top to give him access to her aching breasts, wanting him to fulfill all those dirty, whispered promises he’d made before.
When he clamped his fingers over one nipple, she cried out. Wildfire embedded the tips of his fingers, and with each stroke he spread it wherever he touched.
She kissed him with all the passion raging inside her. When he let her slide down the wall, they stared into each other’s eyes for a millisecond—right before ripping at their clothing. In seconds his jeans were puddled around his boots and her clothes and boots were scattered across the floor.
“Damn this sexy bra is driving me nuts.” He nuzzled along the lacy cup. Just when she thought he’d never get down to business, he flicked the clasp on her back. Her breasts sprang free, and he closed his lips around one nipple.
A sweet, dark heat whipped at her senses. She let her eyes roll back in her head, digging her fingers into his hair for purchase. “I need you. Please.” Her gritty words hardly sounded as if they belonged to her.
The answering growl was all Wydell. Everything rough and sexy about him was embodied in his noise of surrender. As he rooted his cock at the opening of her slick folds, shock tore through her.
“Condom,” she gasped.
His eyes sprang wide. “Fuck!” He released her long enough to stoop and tear off his boots and jeans. He located his wallet and a condom. As he fumbled at it with unsteady hands she reached for the packet.
“Let me.” What a turn-on that he wanted her so badly. Her mind barely took in the thought before he snatched the condom from her fingers and rolled it on one with one smooth glide.
She must have made a noise at the dirty sight of him pumping his cock through his fist, because he answered with, “Grab onto my neck.”
When she did, he levered her against the wall, his cock at her pussy and his gaze locked on hers. “I can’t keep my hands off you.”
“Then don’t,” she whimpered, kissing a path along his stubbled jaw. “I want you to touch me.”
“Hell, you’re so soft. This ass…” He palmed her on both sides. As he reached under and skimmed along her wet pussy, she stopped breathing. In one hard shove, he took her. Stretched her. Filled her.
Every inch sent her into a spiral of sensation. She wiggled closer, burrowing her face against his neck and breathing deep. His musky scent filled her nostrils. The first long, sure stroke sent her pulse pounding and her pussy clenching.
“So fucking tight. I can’t get deep enough.” He pulled her away from the wall, supporting her on his cock as he carried her to the chair. The cool cotton against her spine in direct contrast to the scorching man plastered to her front made her head spin.
With her perched at the edge of the seat, he knelt and dragged her pussy down onto his cock. She clung to him, riding his every hard inch. Perspiration broke out on his forehead and dampened his hair.
“Fuck yeah.” He watched his cock slide into her pussy once, twice. Then he met her stare.
The intense feeling of falling struck her. She impaled herself on his cock. The swollen head bumped her innermost point, and that was too much. She threw her head back and came with a cry that probably echoed down the street. Good thing it was a ghost town and the Kent children were some distance from her trailer.
As each wave pounded her, louder cries escaped. When her haze evaporated enough for her to make sense of what was happening, she met his hungry stare. His blue-green eyes gleamed with a feral lust she couldn’t get enough of.
“I’m going to keep you coming all night, sweetheart. Put your arms around me again. This chair is too short. I’m getting a cramp.”
She realized how he was folded in half, curled around her to keep their bodies joined. Feeling as limp as a rag, she obeyed, holding onto his neck. He lifted her slowly, and kissed her even slower.
The lazy flip of his tongue had her aching for more before he’d taken five steps to the bed nook. One-handedly, he held her against him while tossing every pillow to the floor. Only one remained, and he gently placed her on it.
Arms braced around her, he lowered himself, sank his cock into her still pulsating pussy. “Come for me again. Give me all you’ve got.”
“It’s your turn to come.”
A brief shake of his head like a dog with wet ears. “Uh-uh. I’m in control here.”
She bit his shoulder—hard enough to make him roll off. He struck the wall and cursed. Before he got too grumpy about her small space, she mounted him and eased over his cock. “You sure about that?”
“Helllll.” His neck cords stood out as if he struggled to keep from blowing. She lifted onto her knees and fell slowly over his girth. Rising and falling until low grunts filled the nook. Watching his face transform with bliss sent her shooting higher. Her breathing came rougher.
“Look at me when you come apart, Anya. I need to see your eyes.” His intimate request was too much for her, and she had no desire to look anywhere but his eyes. Holding his stare, she thrust down on him.
He swirled his thumbs over her nipples. “I can’t hold out.”
With a cry, she peaked again. Contracting wildly around his length. His roar stole the last remnant of her control, and she collapsed atop him, letting him drive them on toward heaven.
* * * * *
Pain exploded through Wydell’s knee. “Son of a bitching hell fucking shit!”
Anya giggled. She freaking giggled that he’d just bashed his knee off the wall. Cracking one eye against the pain, he glared at her. “Go on and laugh. You’re half my size—at least you fit in here.”
“There’s plenty of room.” She stretched luxuriously, arching her back in a way that made his balls clench again.
“Stop doing that. My cock won’t fit in here with both of us.”
A full, belly laugh burst from her. The sound was pure bliss, and he couldn’t help but smile. Trailing his fingers over her ribs to her smooth stomach, he watched her. The glow she wore stole his breath, especially knowing he’d put it there.
“I need to shut off the lights outside,” she murmured.
He weighted her to the bed with his arm. “The lights won’t keep you awake because you’re not going to get any sleep.”
She turned onto her side to face him. He carefully, so as not to rap his kneecap again, positioned himself to fit against her. Damn, they were like a pair of good leather gloves. When he tried them on, they just felt good. Too bad the trailer was the size of a glove compartment as well.
“If I don’t sleep, you don’t sleep. And you have a house to build tomorrow.”
He gave a careless shrug. “It’s a small house. Won’t take that much energy.”
She balled her fist and socked him in the stomach. When her knuckles glanced off his abs, she widened her eyes. “You’re hard.”
“If you like that, you should go lower.”
“Oh I know very well how hard that is.” They stared at each other for a few seconds. The moment stretched into minutes of silence, but it wasn’t uneasy. He studied the curl of her lashes and the freckles on each high cheekbone that he hadn’t noticed before.
“What will you start with on the construction?” she asked.
“Now that the plumber’s done, I can build the floor. Then the guys are coming by to help me with the walls.”
“That’s nice of them.”
“We’re a unit. We don’t know how to do most things without each other.”
“You do pretty well solo from what I can see.” She slid a forefinger down his chest, zigzagging through his sparse hair there.
Before she reached his stomach, he trapped her hand beneath his. “I don’t need backup for this mission.”
A soft smile graced her lips.
“What?” he asked.
“The way you talk—like a Marine.”
Tension spread along his shoulders. “I thought I was a cowboy.”
“You’re a lot of things, Wydell. I know you don’t like to talk about your past, so let’s discuss the future. What happens after the first house is built?”
“We get a realtor to find a family of gnomes to buy it.”
She wrinkled her nose in a scowl, but the effect was totally lost in cuteness. “You’re just upset that you didn’t think of building small houses first.”
Sputtering, he said, “Jealous?”
“Yeah, you know I’m right about this venture and you wish you’d come up with it.”
“I did come up with it. Well, not the tiny homes, but the whole project.”
She pushed out a sigh. “Yes, you did. Look, I’m not arguing with you. Not here.”
With her honey-blonde hair spread around her and all that golden, tormenting skin within reach, he was in full agreement.
“After the walls, what next?”
“Wiring, windows, doors. A roof. Then the inside work.”
“I like the storage area you added to the design.”
“Thank you.” Lying with her like this was surreal. If anybody had told him three days ago that he’d be capable of having a civilized conversation with Anya, he would have laughed his ass off.
“But the bathroom isn’t quite right.”
He stared at her. “What’s wrong with the bathroom?”
“The sink and toilet should be reversed so the sink has more wall space.”
He leaned on one elbow and bright spots flashed in his vision as pain shot through his skull. “Goddammit!”
“Oh your head. Come here.”
“Don’t touch it.” He still couldn’t see straight. At this rate, he’d be so concussed that he’d be hammering his thumb more than any nails.
Anya pushed into a sitting position. “Fine, I won’t touch it. But tell me what I can do.”
He rested his sore head back on his forearm, assessing the damage. He didn’t feel blood oozing from the spot, which was positive. But the throb told him he was in for a nasty goose egg.
“Ice.”
“Okay. Stay here.”
“Where am I gonna go?” he growled. “I just saw my life flash before my eyes.”
Her laugh trailed away as she left the nook. A minute later he heard ice rattling.
What did she mean the bathroom wasn’t right? The order of toilet and sink was perfect for the space. As far as miniature bathrooms went, the place was an Elfin Taj Mahal.
“Here, sit up.”
“I’m afraid to. There might be more things to bash my head on,” he grumbled, but did. She settled a cloth-covered bag of ice against his head. “It’s on the other side.”
“Excuse me. You’re like a bear when hurt. How did you ever manage to survive a war?”
He leveled a stare at her. Her gaze flickered over his shoulder and arm, where the skin was twisted from his burns. Shoving the ice back into her hands, he got out of bed and located his clothes scattered near the front door. He strode toward them.
“Wait, you’re leaving?” There was only a hint of strain in her tone—the rest was pure indignant sass.
Tossing her a look, he said, “Yeah.”
Not even a full heartbeat passed before she said, “Good. I didn’t want to share my bed with a big, angry cowboy Marine anyway.”
“That’s good, because you won’t be.”
“Don’t think you can come back here and get me in bed again, Wydell.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.” He practically leaped into his boxers and jeans. Without bothering with his socks, he shoved his feet into his boots, trying not to wince at the pain radiating through the caved-in part of his skull.
He’d been stupid to let his hormones and a full stomach get the better of him. Anya might be a good woman, but they were still oil and water. They couldn’t even get through the afterglow without a fight.
When he opened the door of her trailer, she gave a throaty moan of frustration that almost made him turn around and ravish her again.
“Thanks for the good time,” she shot at him as he went into the night.
He closed the door behind him. He could thank her for a lot of things, but mostly she’d made him realize something. In war, he’d run on training, experience and instinct. But back in the civilian world, he couldn’t go with his gut. So far his decisions with Anya had been all wrong.
He had to think before acting with her. But his new vow didn’t matter anymore because he was through with the woman. He’d steer clear and she could write checks for the homes he built.
Knowing he was in for a rough night, he didn’t bother going to his cot at the back of the barn and sat up for several hours working on house plans. Just when he’d convinced himself he was grounded once again, didn’t he find her at the tiny house the next morning, wearing skinny jeans and a bright blue tank top, her honey-blonde hair in a messy bun and with a hammer in hand.
Hell, he was in for a long day.
* * * * *
“Damn, those boots are slaying me.”
Anya looked around. Had Wydell just said that? She looked at his profile but if he’d spoken, she couldn’t tell. His expression was a mask—far from the penetrating look he’d given her while coming last night.
She glanced down at her footwear, a practical pair of leather boots. Was he referring to them? Maybe she’d misheard, and he was talking about his own being too tight.
“What can I do to help?” she asked.
Wydell grunted without looking at her. He leaned over a pallet of two-by-fours. He shifted a few around but didn’t lift them, giving her the impression he was just avoiding her eyes.
“Before we start on the house, I think we’d better clear the air.”
A faint groan reached her on the morning breeze. Yeah, he was definitely irritated with her.
“I apologize for what I said It was poor manners on my part, but it just slipped out.”
“It’s fine.” He hefted a stack of wood into his arms like it was a bag of feathers. When he started walking away from her, she followed. Fishing her gloves from her back pocket, she tugged them on before taking the end of the lumber.
Feeling that some of the weight he was carrying lighten, he glanced over his shoulder at her. “What are you doing?”
“Helping. And no, I’m not going back to my trailer to have a tea party with the fairies. I’m going to help.”
He snorted. What a man of few words. Between his groans, grunts and wheezes, she had no idea what language he was actually accomplished at.
“What are you smirking about?” he snapped.
Add growl to the list.
“Not a thing,” she said sweetly. “Here’s Garrett.”
Wydell set his jaw at a stubborn angle. “Set the wood down here.”
She did, and together they turned as Garret climbed out of the truck. He wore a big, toothy grin. Why couldn’t Wydell be as amiable? He was a bear with its fur ruffled.
Hooking her thumbs in her pockets, she gave Garrett a nod and smile of greeting.
“I hope you’re bringing backup.” Wydell’s tone was surly.
Garrett arched a brow at Anya, and she widened her eyes as if to say, yes, he was in a mood. But if anyone should be in a mood, it was her. She’d let him into her bed twice now, and both times they’d agreed they’d made a big mistake. She felt like a fool for falling for him, but since she’d gotten more than her share of pleasure from the encounters, she was chalking the whole blissful situation up to life experience.
Besides, they still had to work together. No point in copping attitudes.
“The guys are on their way. I dropped by Brodie’s and had a coupla Danica’s breakfast biscuits. Damn, she can cook.” Garrett stroked his abs in a circle, and on each pass his T-shirt lifted, giving her a peek of tanned, chiseled muscle.
When she looked up, Wydell was glaring at her. “Good, we’ll start and they can help when they get here. Garrett, grab six more boards.”
She followed the friendlier of the two cowboy Marines, and Garrett complimented her on her boots. Glancing down, she said, “Thanks. I’ve had them for ages.”
“Do you have horses?”
“Yes.” She could say she also had a deluxe stable for them and a caretaker who exercised and fed them daily, but she refused to put more ammo in Wydell’s hands. He’d probably ask if they wore tiaras too. “So you help out with Brodie’s animals?”
“Yeah, his and Danica’s families had the only two ranches left. Both were struggling, but they combined efforts.”
“And they’re married?”
“Yep.” Garrett lifted the boards, and she grabbed the back end of the stack. Together they carried the wood to the place Wydell was laying the boards out in a configuration.
Just then another truck pulled in. Brodie and Danica climbed out. Anya remembered the twinge of jealousy she’d felt when she first saw her at the ground breaking ceremony, and how she got along so easily with Wydell and the others. But her charms didn’t seem to be limited to men. Danica came right to Anya to introduce herself, and within minutes they were joking like old friends.
The three men argued over Wydell’s plan and whether they could make the most of the lumber they had if they built the wall in another way.
She brushed her hands on the thighs of her jeans and tried to focus on what Danica was saying. Something about going antiquing in a county up north.
“I found the sweetest wooden chest about this big.” She held up her hands to show Anya. “Got a steal on it too, didn’t we, Brodie?”
The rugged cowboy grinned. “Sure did, beautiful.”
Danica gave Anya a conspiratorial wink. “He loves antiquing.”
Beyond the tall, athletic woman, Anya saw her husband roll his eyes. She stifled a laugh, but Garrett wasn’t so discreet. The man guffawed at his buddy, earning a cuff upside the head as reward. Which deteriorated into a shoving match.
Wydell stepped between them, a wall of annoyed, red-faced cowboy muscle. He looked from one to the other. “We ready to build this house or what?”
“Sure, Hard Ass. Take the lead, o’ Master Builder, and show us how it’s done,” Garrett said.
It was Wydell’s turn to roll his eyes, but he set to work. Anya stood back and watched, unable to tear her her focus from the muscles rolling on Wydell’s back. Danica talked and Anya watched. After about ten minutes, a dark patch of perspiration appeared between Wydell’s shoulder blades.
Anya crushed her fingers into fists. What she wouldn’t give to peel that shirt off him and make him sweatier. Last night had been awesome in so many ways. While he’d been buried deep in her, she’d let herself see a new side of Wydell—a softer, protective, giving side.
Now he was just being a…hard ass, just like the others called him. If he was stubborn now when he didn’t have men to lead, she could only imagine the flack he’d given his fellow soldiers.
“Oh hey, look who just rolled outta bed.” Brodie’s drawl brought Anya’s attention from Wydell, and she found the newcomer looking at her. As tall and broad as his buddies, the one they called Boyd wore his black hat tipped lower than the others. As if he was hiding something.
She noted how he kept looking at her, but she wasn’t interested in luring another cowboy to her bed. She’d gotten her fill last night.
What a lie. I’d have him right now if he were up for it.
The guys got into a ring, fists extended. They bumped knuckles and then went through several handshake rituals. Danica folded her arms, amusement playing over her features, but also something sad.
When she caught Anya staring, she composed herself and the sadness vanished. “They always do that. It’s some Marine Corps secret handshake.” As they looked on, the guys turned into a perfectly straight line and saluted in the direction of the park.
Understanding struck Anya. When she first drove into town she’d seen the monument there with the name of a man who’d lost his life fighting for freedom: Matthew Pope. She’d walked around it a few times, wondering at the man who’d been friends or family with the others she’d met.
Danica gave a sniffle. “He was my brother. Their leader. Last year the guys made this monument happen, and…” She sniffed again. “I’m sorry. I’m getting all sappy—it hasn’t been that long since we lost him.”
The men sharply dropped their arms to their sides and relaxed into their duties. Anya felt choked up too. She’d never seen anything so beautiful as their display of honor.
Placing a hand on Danica’s forearm, she said, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. Now, I don’t know about you, but I came to help build this house.” She wore a tool belt slung low on her hips. As she removed her hammer and swayed her hips toward her husband, he looked up. Something passed between them, a hunger Anya had felt on several occasions between herself and Wydell.
He wasn’t paying any mind to her, though. He barked orders, and the others got busy. Anya had little idea what she could do to help, but Danica was right—she’d come here to work.
She crowded between and the guys and Garrett started talking to her immediately. He showed her how to use the saw and let her make the first cuts. Then he arranged the boards to frame the front door.
Excitement latched onto Anya and wouldn’t let go. She lost herself in the rhythm of working alongside these great men. Someone yelled out “Clear!” and an exploding pop made her look up.
Without warning, she was struck by a massive bull of a cowboy. She and Wydell hit the ground, rolling. She blinked, eyes watering. Panic hit as she found her lungs totally empty. She couldn’t breathe.
“Oh shit, sweetheart. Take a breath. It’s okay, you knocked the wind out of yourself.” Wydell’s eyes were a similar shade to the sky around him.
She fought to fill her lungs, curling on her side and flailing. Wydell cradled her face. “I got you, sweetheart. Just breathe.”
With a horrible screeching sound, she sucked in enough air to fill her lungs. She did it again, just because it felt so good after the suffocating feeling.
His thumbs at the corners of her lips, Wydell gave her a relieved smile. “See? You’re all right.”
She balled her fist and punched him in the jaw. Too late she realized she should aim for a much softer spot. Wheezing in pain and shaking her fist, she said, “What the hell was that for?”
“I…” His throat worked, and his neck mottled red. “Boyd fired a nail your direction..”
“Are you all right? I was just testing the air pressure,” Boyd hollered. “It ain’t loaded.”
For the second time, he’d reacted to a nonexistent threat and thrown her down to protect her. The pulse in his throat beat wildly, and she knew if she put her palm over his heart, she’d feel it skipping.
Covering his hand with hers, she said, “I’m okay. It’s okay, Wydell.”
He blinked a few times as if gathering his wits about him. Then he took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Just stay far away from Boyd. He’s good with a machine gun but can’t figure out how to use a nail gun.” He raised his voice so Boyd heard him.
Nonplussed, the man grinned from beneath his black hat and proceeded to shoot several boards together. Anya stood to the side as the first wall was raised.
“Grab your hammer and do the honors,” Wydell said to her.
Her mouth fell open. “What?”
“Get a handful of those nails. You’re going to toenail this wall into the floor.”
“Here, I’ll show you how.” Danica crouched with a mouthful of nails and her hammer poised over one. After pounding in the first one, she tossed a grin Anya’s direction. “We built lots of treehouses together. This isn’t much bigger than one.”
Wydell snickered, but he didn’t need to add a told-you-so comment. Anya was getting good at reading him. Except when it came to his reactions to her. She never knew which Wydell she was going to get—the sweet one or the ornery one.
* * * * *
Watching Anya pound nails was erotic as hell. Her breasts jiggled just a little, her hair swirled around her shoulders. And she made this adorable face while she worked, catching her tongue between her teeth.
Wydell’s Wranglers couldn’t get any tighter.
He dropped his attention to her sexy-as-hell little cowgirl boots and groaned. Dammit, she’d been distracting him enough without the boots. But in them…
Brodie clamped a hand on Wydell’s shoulder. “You all right, man?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah.”
He squeezed, refusing to let go until Wydell gave him an answer he believed. “You sure?”
“I’m good. Anya broke my fall.”
She looked up and gave him a smile that made his chest feel tight as well as his jeans. The fact that she understood his traumas of the past were causing him to react harshly, and that she’d been in the way both times, gave him a small bit of ease. It was still embarrassing as hell for him, though. The other guys hadn’t freaked out over a dry nail gun being tested.
He didn’t like the thought of getting help for his troubles. Sure, it was fine for some, but he still had crap to do around Los Vista. Who had time for talking through his feelings?
From the corner of his eye, he saw Anya creep closer to him. What an ass he’d been to her, taking her comment about the war far too personally.
He was glad she’d come today, regardless of what had transpired between them. But if Boyd gave her that flirty wink one more time…
Positioning himself between Boyd and Anya, he directed Garrett on how to build the next wall. Before long all four exterior walls were erected. Standing back, he folded his arms and looked at what had to be the smallest house imaginable. If he didn’t know better, he’d think it was a garden shed.
“Damn, bro, that’s one tiny house.” The most amusing part of hearing Boyd say that was the glare Anya gave him. Score one. He wouldn’t be winking at her anymore.
Folding her arms, she said, “They’re all the rage in certain circles, leaving a smaller carbon footprint on the planet.”
Danica jumped to her rescue. “It’s true. It’s the new revolution. Wydell and Anya have a moneymaker in this idea. Just wait and see.”
Anya gave her a grateful smile, drifting closer yet to Wydell. A strange feeling of solidarity wrapped him and Anya together. He might not like her vision, but he was here to help her build it.
They exchanged a smile.
An hour later, they had all the interior walls standing. When Anya looked down at the plumbing projecting through the floorboards, she spun on Wydell. “Is this where you decided to put the toilet?”
“You know it is. The plumber was here before we had that argument last night.”
Around them, the hammering stilled.
“So is there a way to change it as I suggested?” She set a hand on one curvy hip. He remembered all too well how she felt in his hands. Dammit.
“It’s one house, Anya. We’re going to build what—ten more? We’ll change it on the next one.”
“Can’t we just switch around the plumbing?”
“Not without getting the plumber back here for a seventy-five dollar call charge and a hundred bucks an hour. But maybe you don’t mind squandering daddy’s money.”
Rage hit her eyes. Her lips twisted, and he waited for her wrath to explode all over him. But it never came. She whirled on her heel and stomped away. Garrett tried to intercept her, which was the wrong damn move.
In a few long strides, Wydell caught her. Turned her into his arms and kissed the angry retort right off her pretty lips. She gasped and shoved against his chest, but he drew her tight against him.
“You’d argue with me that the sky’s blue, Wydell Jackson.” Her voice hitched.
Tipping her chin up with his knuckles, he drawled, “Looks more cerulean to me.”
Her groan of fury was cut short when he slammed his mouth over hers again. Suddenly, a cacophony of hammering and sawing started behind him, as if everyone was busy trying to ignore them.
Wydell’s taste was never going to be enough. He slanted his mouth over hers and probed her lips apart with his tongue. She gave into him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she kissed him back.
“Blue,” she gasped between gulping kisses.
“Azure.”
“You ass.”
“This is indeed a fine ass.” He creeped his fingers around to her backside, but before he could get a feel, she slipped from his hold.
Then with as much dignity as possible and despite her red cheeks, she returned to the group and grabbed her hammer. Neither Boyd nor Garrett looked at her again, which was good. At least they knew who she belonged to.