She was getting too close.
She was starting to want his smiles, his caresses, his inappropriate remarks.
She craved them.
Not just the attention, but the fact that somehow they were building something together. Just to have it ripped away when she left. When he was auctioned off.
Was it worth it? Pursuing him? Allowing more touches? Kissing? Spending the few nights they had left together? Would it be worth it? Or would she regret knowing what it would be like to be in his arms… Would she spend the rest of her life comparing every other man to him?
Brock’s muscles flexed as he pulled the backpack from the horse then patted down Buttercup’s side and whispered in her ear.
Holy crap he was sexy.
He was gruff.
Both a polished CEO and apparently a cowboy.
A regular prince of industry.
With a pauper.
Hah.
She reached for her phone to take a picture of the scenery in front of her then remembered she’d turned it off after receiving all the nasty texts from her sisters and left it in her room.
Brock spread out a small black and red quilted blanket, then grabbed the backpack and dropped it in the middle.
“Wine?”
She nodded.
He opened the wine and handed her a plastic cup. “So, what do you think?”
“Hmm?” She took a long sip, frowning over the cup as Brock eyed her up and down in appreciation.
“Riding.” He grinned wolfishly.
She looked away and smiled. “It was okay.”
“Just okay?” He leaned forward. “Careful or you’ll hurt Buttercup’s feelings.”
“Just Buttercup?” She tilted her head.
“Mine too.” His voice was gravelly, buzzing with sexual tension as he leaned forward and very slowly pulled her cup from her hands and kissed her on the cheek. His body was braced above hers. “I’m going to taste you again.”
“You were right.”
“What?” He blinked as if confused.
“You did leave Boring Brock with the cock.”
“It irritates the hell out of me that ‘Brock’ rhymes with ‘cock.’ Just laying it all out there so you know.”
She giggled.
“And now you’re laughing, and I’m trying to kiss you.”
“Don’t try,” she whispered. “Just do it, before I lose my nerve and limp back to the house.”
“Done,” he said just before he slammed his mouth against hers.
With a gasp she hung on to his shoulders to keep from falling backward against the blanket, even though the idea had merit.
His hands reached for her body.
They were a pair: Brock grasping at her in any way he possibly could, Jane holding on for dear life, praying that the kiss could go on forever. It wasn’t just his taste, or the possessive way he marked her with his lips with each caress—maybe it was the combination of everything, of the desperation they both felt.
To be free.
His tongue slid against hers and a shiver ran down her body, just as a raindrop fell onto her cheek.
Brock pulled back, his expression heated. “I’m not stopping at one kiss.”
Jane brushed the raindrop away only to have another take its place.
Brock glanced up and swore just as the sky opened up and a downpour rained hell all over the beginnings of their romantic picnic.
He jumped to his feet, but Jane remained, her face tilted up at the sky as the cool rain fell against her body, each drop sliding down her skin, making her feel alive, ready for anything.
Maybe the rain was an omen.
A sign.
After all, didn’t rain mean fresh chances? Starting over?
Her gaze blurred as she took in Brock’s wet form hovering over her. His thick black eyelashes blinked slowly as his hazel eyes locked on hers, never wavering. His full lips were slightly swollen, his chin lifted in defiance—ready to challenge her, maybe?
Or himself?
“Mud pies?” she whispered, needing to break the tense silence with something.
“Mud wrestling?” he countered.
“Tough choice.”
“Believe me.” He held out his hand to her. “I know.”
With a grin she took his hand and stood. Seconds later he lifted her up into his arms and twirled her around the wet grass.
She burst out laughing as he jogged over to a pile of dirt that was quickly turning into mud and set her on her feet. “How do we do this?”
“Oh I forgot. You were born an old man.”
He shoved her lightly, making her laugh like she was a teenager.
“You need to stop talking to the twins, before one or both of them end up dead.”
“You’d kill them?” she asked in mock horror.
“It’s often a tempting thought, the only thing that used to help me fall asleep at night with a smile on my face.” His crooked smile had her heart hammering in her chest uncontrollably.
“And now?”
“Now, she asks.” He smiled down at the dirt and slowly leaned over, pulling some mud into his hand and slapping it into his other like he was clapping. “Now, my thoughts are a lot hotter at night, scorching, uncontrollably erotic, and if I’m being honest, damned uncomfortable.”
“Hot, you say?” She grinned, leaning down on her haunches to grab some mud.
“Very.” He nodded.
“Let me cool you off.” She winked, then smeared mud on his face. “Better?”
He bit back a curse then fell against the dirt laughing. “Completely healed of any sort of sexual fantasy, yup, thanks.”
“I’m at your service.”
He let out a groan. “Just kidding. Still hot.”
Laughing, she trailed more mud down his chin with her finger, then captured his lips in hers without even giving a second thought to what she was doing, initiating whatever this was between them.
He cupped her face with his dirty hands, as if she was precious, as if she was everything, and pressed his forehead against hers. “What about now? Not then, but now?”
She frowned. “What are you asking?”
“Now. Give me now.”
“And forget about the future? Is that what you’re asking?”
“Borderline begging.” His voice rasped. “Let me worry about the future. And I swear to you I’ll figure something out—but let me taste you now—let me have you now.”
Out of fear, Jane hesitated. She wanted him more than anything, but…she wanted more than a fleeting kiss or moment.
“Trust me,” he whispered across her lips.
His tone was gentle, desperate.
So she said yes.
Even though her heart simultaneously screamed for her to be careful.