Page 25 of Deputy Brand Gets Her Man
“You believe me, then?” he asked, rising from his chair as well. They were standing very close.
“Why wouldn’t I believe you?”
He shrugged “People don’t believe ex-cons.”
“I do. I could tell you were being honest…about all that.” She pressed her palms to his chest, then slid them up a little higher, to his collar bones.
“How can you tell?”
“Cops have ways.”
He wanted to ask what they were, those ways, so he could use them himself. Instead, he said, “Will you be honest with me back?”
“Maybe.” Her fingers slid around his neck and interlocked behind it.
“What changed your mind about coming over here tonight?”
She gazed into his eyes. “I was drivin’. I was sleepy. A song came on the radio and the truck just sort of turned on its own.”
“Huh,” he said. “What song?”
She held his gaze a little harder. “Desperado. Ronstadt’s version.” She paused, lowered her eyes momentarily, visibly deciding to say a little more. “I think you’re a good person, Jeremiah Thorne. Don’t you prove me wrong, you hear?”
Then she pressed her lips to his, and he was gone. He wrapped his arms all the way around her waist, picked her right up off her feet, then carried her into the bunkhouse, kissing her all the way.
Willow’s voice of reason was drowned out by the demands of her body. She wanted this man, had wanted him since she’d laid eyes on him, even when he’d been hiding behind a full beard and sombrero.
He kicked the bunkhouse door closed behind them. Willow shucked her blouse as he shuffle-walked her back to the bunks, fully supported by his arms around her, guided by his thighs pushing hers. When her legs hit the back-most bunk, she bent her knees and sat on its edge.
He followed her down, pressing her back. She put her hands on his shoulders and applied the smallest amount of pressure.
He stopped, braced above her on straight arms, blinking down at her in the near darkness of the bunkhouse.
“That little drawer.” She nodded toward the back wall, at the little drawer he’d barely noticed, that was built into it.
He opened it, and rifled through the packets in there. “Nice.”
“Never let it be said the Texas Brand Bunkhouse isn’t fully equipped.”
He closed the drawer, and pulled something from his jeans pocket. “But I, too, am fully equipped.”
“Get that much action, do you?”
He lowered his head. “I bought these the day after we kissed. When your mom interrupted and?—”
“I remember.”
“I had no reason to carry ‘em around before that.”
“Noted,” she said. It was sexy, how nervous he’d become.
His body still above hers, he lowered his gaze to her chest, where she wore a lacy white bra, then he was touching her, his eyes on hers as often as they were on her breasts. He reached behind her to unhook the bra, took it off, gazed at her and exhaled.
Then he bent to use his mouth, and she lost her mind.
She pushed off his shirt, unbuttoning it partly, then wrestling it over his head, and then his jeans while he was undoing hers, and their hips were arching against each other, pressing their hands in between.
Naked, he cupped and fondled her in a way that sent delicious sensations from her core to her extremities. And then it happened, he slid inside her, and held her so closely there wasn’t room for air in between. He moved slowly, and he kept kissing her, then looking at her, and stroking her hair back from her forehead, and then kissing her again.
