“Stop laughing at me.”
“I’m not laughing at you.” Ry glanced over at Celia from under the brim of his hat as she clung to the saddle cinched around Hopper. Short for Clodhopper, the fifteen-year-old horse had never been known to go over a lazy trot even on his best day. Yet Celia, decked out in jeans, a T-shirt and a pink straw cowgirl hat, was acting like the big bay’s pokey pace was threatening to break the sound barrier. “Remember, don’t hold on to the saddle and the reins all at the same time. Relax your grip on the reins, tuck your knees in close and let Hopper follow my lead, yeah? Why not take a look around, enjoy the scenery?”
“Because I’m convinced I’m about to die.”
“You need to know that I’d never allow anything bad happen to you.”
“I believe you, but I’m not sure this horse is on the same page.”
“’Course he is, he’s a Brody horse. That means you’re safe, because Hopper and everything around you is mine.”
“Here’s hoping you’re smart enough to not include me in that statement.” Grudgingly she swept her gaze over the rugged terrain, dotted here and there with torturously twisted live oaks, outcroppings of jagged malachite rock formations, and grazing Black Angus. That was all there was, as far as the eye could see, and as he watched, her face softened with a kind of wonder that lit a warm glow in his chest. “Wow, you’re right. It really is beautiful out here.”
“From here to the horizon and beyond, everything you see is Brody land.” Keeping a close watch on her, he chose an easy trail around the base of a malachite-rich ridge that had given the ranch its name, and aimed for a green ribbon of water that had been responsible for creating the ridge in the first place. “There it is, my favorite place in all of Green Rock—the best damn fishing hole this side of the Nueces River.”
She zeroed in on the long swath of green shaded by gnarled, hardwood trees. “It’s beautiful. But isn’t it a little late in the day for fishing? It’s almost noon.”
“I go fishing for the fun of fishing, not for catching anything.”
“I hope you know that doesn’t make sense.”
“I don’t recall ever saying I made sense.” Again he glanced back at her to make sure she was hanging in there, and had to chuckle at how fiercely she held on to her reins. “Hopper’s going to be backing up in a second, the way you’re pulling on those reins.”
“Crap.” Instantly her grip relaxed. “Okay, I’m not pulling. And stop laughing. I’m doing great for never having been on a horse before.”
She was, by damn. And she was doing it without complaint, too. Another bonus. “I have to admit, you’re being a good sport about this, city slicker.”
“No one from Bitterthorn could ever be called a city slicker. Or a city anything, really.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” he said easily, though he watched her expression like a hawk. “Small town values are my kind of values. And since you can’t get views like this in a city, I’d pick this country life every time.”
“I don’t blame you. And it doesn’t hurt that a major city is less than thirty miles away from where we are now.”
“That too.” He aimed for a grassy, tree-studded area that sloped toward the water, dismounted and waited for Hopper to come to a halt beside him. “But let’s not forget who you really are.”
She shot him a perplexed look. “Uh, who I really am? I’m pretty positive I’m not going to forget anytime soon that I’m Celia Villarreal.”
“You’re an avid gardener who loves playing in the dirt. You take care of your neighbors without a second thought. You wear cowgirl boots with dresses, and you live in a converted barn. Admit it—you’re a country girl through and through.”
“I hate bugs. I refused to move into that barn until it had been fumigated, insulated, and had AC installed. As for those neighbors, they spy on me like I’m their favorite form of entertainment.” Awkwardly she swung a jean-clad leg over Hopper’s wide rump and Ry caught her by her waist to guide her safely to the ground. “I’m not as country as you think.”
“You’d hate the city if you lived there all the time.”
“Maybe.” She let him turn her in his arms, and he loved the way her body arched into his as she reached up to link her hands behind his neck. “But I won’t know until I try.”
“Fuck trying. You belong here. Not some city where you can be anonymous. Not with people who don’t give a shit about you. You belong here.”
Her eyes narrowed and her body stilled. “By any chance, have you heard a rumor about me getting a job offer up in Dallas?”
“Word is, it’s not a rumor.” His arms tightened. “Is it?”
“I haven’t accepted it yet.”
It took every ounce of will he had not to crush her to his chest. But by damn, if he had to hold her there until the fucking sun burned out, that was exactly what he’d do. “You won’t.”
Her brows shot up. “Is that a prediction or an order?”
“I don’t give a shit what you call it—it is what it is. A person needs to know where they belong in the world in order to be happy.” Pushing her hat back, he kissed her hard to make sure she understood he wasn’t fucking around on this. When he finally raised his head and saw her blink dazedly, he nodded in satisfaction. “When we’re together like this, I know you know what I’m talking about. About being where you belong, and being happy about it.”
Those black magic eyes locked on his so completely he was sure he heard the click. “I know I’m crazy-happy right now. In fact, you should thank your lucky stars I can’t carry a tune, because I swear I have to hold myself back from bursting into song every time you touch me. See? Crazy-happy. I’m not even making sense.”
God, his lady was sweet. “You make perfect sense to me. You’re happy because you know what most people go through a lifetime not knowing. You know where you belong.”
“Oh, really? And where do you think I belong?”
“Under my hands. And my mouth. And me.” When she smiled with a kind of dawning realization that knocked every rational thought out of his head, he kissed her again and almost felt like singing himself when her mouth eagerly responded. It took a shocking amount of strength to break it off, and the pulse pounding in both his chest and his dick distracted him so much he almost forgot why he’d brought her out there. “Let’s get our stuff unpacked, yeah? We’re doing this picnic up right.”
“I’m impressed.” Minutes later, with plastic containers of grapes, baby carrots and celery, BLTs with loads of bacon and cut into picture-perfect triangles, chocolate-covered strawberries and brownies spread out on a large square quilt beneath the trees, Celia smiled her thanks as she accepted a plastic cup of sweetened iced tea. “When you said you were packing a picnic lunch for a fishing trip, I was expecting peanut butter sandwiches, a jug of soda and a bag of tortilla chips.”
“You have Dottie to thank for this,” he said, taking his hat off and dropping it on top of hers. “She’s a twitchy-eyed perfectionist if there ever was one. If I’d been left in charge, it would’ve been exactly what you described. I’m not the greatest in the kitchen.”
“Dottie, huh?” For a moment she grimaced, before she shrugged and offered him a smile. “Next time I’ll pack a picnic lunch you won’t soon forget. Thanks to my mom, Pauline and Lucy, I’ve got mad skills in the cooking and baking department.”
“Deal.” He plucked up a grape and held it to her mouth. “Open up, my Celia.”
She did, putting her half-empty drink aside to hold his hand steady, her gaze tangling with his while her lips slowly closed over the fruit. The raw sensuality of her hit him like a punch to the gut, stealing his breath and making him ache in the sweetest damn way. Suddenly setting up fishing gear and sharing this small slice of what he considered to be heaven with her didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered except being inside her.
Right there.
Right now.
Desire thrummed through him as he slid his hand from her mouth, past her shoulder and over the firm swell of her breast, where her nipple was already taut beneath the veil of her pink T-shirt. That barrier kept her from him, an intolerable situation if there ever was one, so he lifted it up and over her head with quick efficiency.
“Wait, Ry—”
“No one knows we’re here.” The lacy pink bra she had on was the stuff fantasies were made of, but right now all he wanted was to see it gone. “This has always been my special place, my haven. My brothers know I do not share it with anyone, not even them. We’re as alone as two people can possibly be.”
“Just—” Whatever she was about to say got interrupted because he had to kiss her right the hell now, or lose his frigging mind. Only when he’d filled himself with the mind-altering aphrodisiac of her taste did he at last lift his head. Her eyes fluttered open, heavy-lidded and sparkling with hunger, and he nearly groaned out loud at the sight. “Just so you know, I brought a couple of condoms.”
“That’s all? Darlin’, I brought a whole damn box.”
When her sultry laugh hit him, talking things out dropped off his personal list of priorities. Tugging off her boots so her jeans could follow made him decide that skirts were the only way for her to go from that point on, but he couldn’t remember if he said it out loud. All he knew for sure was the desperation to touch all of her with all of him, and if he didn’t get that he was going to explode.
The dappled sunlight filtering in through the canopy of leaves played over her nakedness, and as he kicked off his jeans and rolled the protection in place he knew instinctively that she was a sight he’d never forget. As much as he loved Celia’s spectacular legs, her full, mauve-tipped breasts were fast becoming his personal obsession. His hands came to cover them, his excitement building at how she arched into his palms in invitation. Greedily he took her up on it and slid down her body to take one of those perfect mauve peaks into his mouth.
Heaven.
That was what her flavor was.
Heaven.
He took his time worshipping her. He couldn’t do anything else. A goddess who was so utterly suited to his personal tastes, desires and turn-ons deserved absolute devotion. Not every man had the good fortune of having his secret fantasy cross his path, so the least he could do was appreciate that good fortune, and dedicate himself to learning every last thing that made her sigh.
And moan.
And writhe.
And cry.
He couldn’t wait.
He feasted on one breast, then the other, rolling his tongue without mercy around the puckered, hardened tips while his hand roamed over the plane of her belly. The softness of her skin never failed to stagger him, and he’d forever regret not learning the secret of the crushed-silk feel of her sooner. If he’d known she had skin that was the tactile equivalent of perfection, he wouldn’t have wasted so much time.
But that didn’t matter anymore.
What mattered was turning her sighs into moans.
With his lips blazing a trail of kisses downward, he coaxed those lovely thighs of hers to part, positioning her lower legs over his shoulders. He swirled his tongue along an inner thigh, thrilling at the quivering muscles he found there as he let the anticipation build until it was a sweet, sweet torment.
“Please.” Clearly stretched to a breaking point herself, Celia twisted restlessly beneath him, her heels digging into his back. “Please, Ry, hurry...”
“My favorite place, doing my favorite activity, with my favorite person in the whole wide world.” He smiled before drawing a line up her inner thigh with his tongue. “I’m not about to hurry through heaven.” With gentle pressure, he spread her thighs farther apart, then lowered his head to slide his tongue along her slick channel.
Her whimper made his head spin.
That one sound of helplessness hooked him as completely as any powerful narcotic. He needed to force that sound from her again and again in the same way he needed to breathe. Determined to do just that, his tongue zeroed in on her clit, rubbing and licking that hard little button without mercy, and let her pleasure wash through him as if it were his own.
Broken cries escaped her while her fingers dove into his hair. She held him in place as if she feared he’d leave, but he wasn’t going anywhere. He wouldn’t stop until she was insane with sensation. He knew he was getting her close to coming when her hips began to rock as if she could already feel him inside her. It was so goddamned sexy he groaned while his cock throbbed, now so stiff and swollen it bordered on painful.
With the hunger to be inside her screaming along his every nerve, he closed his lips over the hard cluster of nerves, and sucked.
“Ry.” Celia crying out his name was the sound his fantasies were made of, and when she wildly ground herself into his mouth he knew he’d been patient long enough. In a swift move he lifted up, landed in the cradle of her thighs, and entered into her with a conquering thrust.
“Celia. God.” Pleasure—such an insignificant word for what she gave him—shivered through his every cell. It was so intense, so pure, he could only chase after it with single-minded intensity, because at that moment it was the only thing he lived for. Feverishly he plunged into her, thrilling at how her whimpers swelled to incoherent cries. When her body spasmed with her orgasm and clenched around his cock, the tension inside him snapped. The ecstasy that roared through him was so intense it wiped his mind blank and filled him with sensation so vast it was crushing. He gave himself over to it completely, wallowing in a piercing pleasure he hadn’t known existed.
Only with Celia.
Those three words echoed through him as he pushed through the end of his explosive release.
Only with Celia.
* * *
“Seriously? Seventy-five percent payment even if the client rejects created materials?”
“Absolutely. You’re out of your damn mind if you think this girl works for free.” Lying naked on her stomach, Celia popped the last grape into her mouth. They had been “picnicking”—otherwise known as putting an admirable dent in the condom box’s contents—for the past two hours. The fishing poles remained packed away while the sunlight turned that soft afternoon gold and a faint breeze blew gently over them. A herd of Black Angus now sheltered in the shade under the trees across the river from them. Every now and again their lowing could be heard, mingling with birdsong and the watery whisper of the river flowing by. “I’m not too worried about you not liking what I come up with, though.”
“Yeah? You think you’ve got an in with me?”
“No.” She couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the smile in his voice. “I’ve made up some storyboards that can be turned into commercial-length animations within a couple days. Once you give me feedback on them and customize it however you want, I’ll create the finished product. See? Custom-made means the client’s always happy.”
“Happy sounds good.” With the standard contract she’d printed up spread out on her back, Ry idly caressed his lips along the small of her back before rubbing his chin against the swell of a butt cheek. Like her, he was on his stomach, halfway lying on her and using her back as a desk as he reviewed the contract. “How soon do you think you can have a presentation ready?”
“I’m assuming you want it by your barbecue blowout this weekend?”
“Yeah. About a dozen or so prospective buyers will be there, along with clients we already have. And, of course, just about everyone who likes free food and dancing, so that means everyone in town.”
“If you like the storyboards I’ve already come up with, I can put together a commercial-style animation for your pitch in time for the barbecue.” She yawned and rested her head on her folded arms. After “picnicking” like they had, it was a wonder she was still awake. “I’ll even throw in a short slideshow history of Green Rock Ranch, if you want.”
“Slideshow?”
“Don’t worry, I’m not talking about that boring junk we had to sit through when we were in school.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
“I just finished up a similar project for a DigiLife client—a Texas brewer that makes that Tex-Mex beer everyone drinks. I put together a collage of photos from their humble beginnings to where they are now, gave it a soundtrack and capped it with a few pithy phrases about success and a triumphant photo of the brewer winning some kind of award. They ate it up with a spoon. All I need from you is whatever old photos you can scrounge up about the ranch and its operation.”
“Pictures, huh?” His scoff of laughter didn’t hold much humor in it. “I can do that, at least when it comes to the early stuff. Origins of the dynastic Brody ranch, or whatever. But if you’re looking for something more recent, I’ve destroyed just about every photo of my mom and dad that I could get my hands on.”
She glanced back at him while her heart twisted at his words. “I understand your feelings for your parents, and I certainly get Des’s point of view on that as well. But what about the others? Killian and Fin?”
“Fin and Des are real close—best friends as well as brothers. They just clicked the moment they were introduced, you know? Whenever our mom would call Des a bastard or an unwanted mistake, Finian would lose his shit and destroy everything he could get his hands on. He once told me it was either break shit up or go for our mom’s throat for being such an abusive cunt.”
Dismay bloomed in her chest. “Holy crap.”
“Yeah.” His green eyes wandered away from the papers in front of him to the cattle across the river. “I can’t tell you how many times we had people out to the main house to fix busted-up doors and windows. The last time our mother went off on Des was when Fin vowed to set fire to the main house if she dared to go after Des one more time. She was so off her damn gourd that she started to repeat what she’d said at the top of her lungs, out of spite more than anything.”
“Wait, why would she scream at Fin? He was her son.”
“By that time, my mother hated everyone in that house, just as much as we hated her. Whenever Fin defended Des she’d lash out at him, and then a bunch of shit would get broken. But that time, that final fucking time, Fin swore he’d burn the whole house down to break the cycle once and for all if she opened up her yap one more time. So, opening up her yap was exactly what she did. Then Kill stepped in and did the unthinkable.”
Celia was afraid to ask. “What was the unthinkable?”
Ry sighed. “He smacked her. Not hard, and just across her lips, but it was enough to freeze us all in place.” His gaze returned to her, and the darkness she saw there almost made her cry out. “Can you imagine? Raising a hand to your own mother, a woman we’d once adored. It would have been unthinkable at one point in our lives. The woman our mother had once been never would have deserved such treatment, but she wasn’t that woman anymore. In her place was this venom-filled, crazy-eyed bitch who cared only about her own pain and no one else’s. The day Des arrived at our house was the day the mother I loved died. When she spun out of control...it’s like we all went with her.”
She tried to imagine a hate so big it blotted out the needs of children, and she just couldn’t do it. It wasn’t in her to hate that much. “Do you think Fin would have actually set fire to the house if your mother had said what she wanted to say to Des?”
“I know he would have,” came the flat response. “So did Kill. That’s why he did what he did. He wasn’t getting after our mother for being an abusive monster. He was doing his damnedest to save Finian from becoming an arsonist.”
“My God.” Learning the famous Brody family was a dysfunctional train wreck behind closed doors had her shaking her head in disbelief. “And I thought I had it bad when my parents wouldn’t let me stay out all night for Senior Prom.”
“They were right for taking a firm hand with you, young lady.”
She sighed. “And again I feel sorry for your future daughters.”
“Brody men are boy-makers, in case you haven’t noticed. But if I ever do get lucky enough have a baby girl, I already told you—I have no doubt that she’ll be the kind of girl that scares the devil himself. That means she doesn’t breathe free for eighteen years solid, and that’s not negotiable. After that, hopefully I’ll have taught her enough about the evils of the world and how to deal with them, so she’ll be able to do as she pleases.”
The mention of Ry’s eventual children brought up thoughts of babies and things she had no right thinking about, so she shoved that potential hornet’s nest as far back into her head as it would go. “I’m surprised it fell to Killian to step up and do whatever he could to protect Des and Fin from your mother. It was your father’s job to take control of the situation when his wife got so abusive. He had to know your home life was pretty dire, considering how many times repairs had to be made to the house.”
Ry huffed out a sound so contemptuous it made her wince. “That spineless asshole didn’t know shit, Cel. He’d screwed up his family by letting his dick do the thinking for him, which was bad enough. But you know what was worse? He didn’t have the fucking balls to face up to the consequences.”
“What do you mean?”
“As months turned into years, my old man was home less and less. He couldn’t take how his perfect world had fallen apart. I don’t think he ever knew how violent things had gotten at home until Kill slapped our mother. That led to a knockdown drag-out fight between Kill and the old man, and damn, that was a sight to see. My brother had one hell of a lot to say, but his main point was how unfair it was that he’d been forced to do the old man’s job of protecting Fin and Des. And he was right to say that. Our dad had done fucking nothing for a decade when it came to getting his house in order. He’d been a coward and a failure when it came to his family, and Kill wasn’t shy about letting him know it. That seemed to be the final straw for everyone. Our parents died about a week later.”
“Now I see why a part of you wanted to celebrate when they died.” She gazed at him, this strong, complex man, and saw the pain hidden way down deep that had never fully healed. “I just don’t understand why your parents didn’t get a divorce and put everyone out of their misery.”
“I’ve thought long and hard about that. I could be wrong, but I think that as much as they came to hate each other, my batshit crazy parents loved hurting each other even more.”
She stared. “That is beyond twisted.”
“Tell me about it.”
A sound of sympathy escaped her. “You deserved better.”
“I’m glad you think so.” He smoothed a hand over the curve of her ass, and she slowly closed her eyes to better savor the sensation. “The one thing you don’t deserve is to be inundated with too much work. Do you really think you can get everything done before the barbecue? Seems like a lot, and I want you to have enough time to spend with me.”
Aw. That was sweet. “Are you afraid all work and no play is going to make me a dull girl?”
“I’m afraid it’s going to make me pissy as hell if you’re too busy for a booty call.”
She snorted. So much for sweet. “The tough part of any campaign is coming up with ideas, and that’s already done. Now it’s merely a matter of presenting who you are and how deeply rooted your family is here at Green Rock Ranch. If people aren’t fighting each other to be the first to sign up by the time I’m done, you should fire me.”
“Never gonna happen, darlin’.” His mouth again skimmed over the small of her back, then moved downward to gently bite one rounded butt cheek. “Besides, I need you around to help me host this barbecue. You’re my secret weapon.”
Again she looked back at him. “Oh?”
“You’re so damn beautiful and brilliant, people will do whatever you tell ’em just to make you happy. So don’t even think you’re going to dodge this party, you hear me? You’re by my side, greeting guests and playing hostess, and that’s that.”
“You don’t say.” Thrilled almost beyond words that he thought she was both beautiful and brilliant, she had to consciously stop herself from squealing like an idiot. “That sounded dangerously like an order.”
“You’d pass a hearing test with flying colors, darlin’.”
The urge to squeal did an abrupt vanishing act. “At this point, we need to have a serious talk about how bossy you are.”
“I’m not bossy. I just know how things are gonna go.”
“One, I’m not a thing. And two, you don’t know how things are going to go.”
His teeth sank into her flesh once more, before his gaze lifted to tangle with hers. “Are you saying you’re not going to go to the barbecue that I’m hosting?”
Whoops. “Well, no—”
“Are you saying you’re not my woman?”
At that, she nearly forgot how to breathe. “I’ve...never thought about any relationship I’ve ever had in those terms. It’s kind of possessive, isn’t it?”
“Hell yeah, it’s possessive, and you damn well better start thinking about it now. You’ve got my teeth marks on your ass, my hickeys all over your skin, and I’m about five minutes away from making you scare the cattle, because you’re going to be coming so hard you’ll be screaming my name. So let’s hear it, Celia. Are you, or are you not, my woman?”
“I am.” How could she say anything else when she was already tingling at the thought of having him inside her? And how could it be any other way when she was still rocking from the realization that had struck her when he’d talked about where she belonged? She belonged with him. She belonged to him.
Because she loved him.
As astounding as that was, she loved Ry Brody.
“Damn straight you are.” He set the contract aside and moved up her body to kiss her shoulder. As he did, one of his hands nudged between her legs, making her breath catch. “You’re my woman, and I’m your man. That’s not being bossy, Celia. That’s knowing what reality is. Right?”
“R—” As he’d been talking, his hand hit the jackpot, caressing her without mercy until her fingers clenched on the quilt and her hips pumped with every stroke. “Oh, God. Ry, yes. Ry.”
“Yeah, you know what your reality is. It’s me.” With his hand never stopping its tormenting rhythm, he got to his knees behind her. “Ass up and head down, my Celia. Time to scare the cattle.”