Broken Fences (A TroubleMaker Novel, #1) (3 page)

Knock, knock,
knock!

The loud sound
confirmed that someone was at the door. A quick glance to her cell phone had
her wondering who the hell would be paying her a visit at 2:30 in the morning.
She jumped up from the sofa, grumbling under her breath, “Damn you, Jimmy. If
you’ve made my cousin cry again…”

Dusty threw the
door open, prepared to see Sissy’s puffy eyes, but she was instead greeted by
hooded green ones. Once those eyes finished consuming every inch of her nearly
naked body, they darkened.

“St. James,” she
half-squeaked. Her eyes did their own devouring of the man standing in her
doorway in the middle of the night. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

He moved
forward, and she should have bolted her feet to the floor to protect her home, but
for some reason, letting him get any closer to her felt more invasive. Dusty
back stepped instead, giving him full access to her sanctuary. He checked out
the lay of her land, then swung a huge, army-green bag from his shoulder and
dropped it on the floor, as if it belonged there or something. He quickly
finished the home inspection, and then those damnable eyes performed another
uninvited and thorough appraisal of her body. “I’m here to claim my wish.”

Stunned, she
uttered, “At 2:30 in the morning?”

He shrugged.
“The lights were on.” He took a few more steps into her house, paying no heed
to her appall.

“What if I’d
been busy or uh…not alone,” she asked the arrogant ass, suddenly missing the
do-gooder.

Colden’s head
slid over his shoulder. The wicked look on his face had her wishing she hadn’t
put on her short-shorts to sleep in. She tugged on her shirt, and his eyes
followed the small action. When she was through fidgeting with the tight cami,
he raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to tell me you’ve got a guy here or
something?”

She crossed her
arms over her braless, oddly heavy chest, lifted her chin, and met his
skeptical eyes. “Yes,” she lied.

“No you don’t.”
He grinned, turned, and started for the living room. “Or at least you
didn’t…until now.”

* * * * *

The place was
bigger on the inside than what it looked like from the outside. Colden would
have known, since he’d been casing it for the past four days. He knew every
square inch. Room to room, he’d watched lights flicker on and off. The image of
Dusty’s slender, shadowy figure moving behind the curtains had haunted his
dreams during the few hours of sleep he’d been able to catch out in his truck.

He wasn’t
pleased at all to discover that she lived in a house at the dead end of Potts
Road. It was secluded, making his clandestine job more difficult, and if anyone
wanted to break in and attack her, there was no one to hear her and nowhere to
hide.

“Okay, you
caught me. There’s no guy…well, except for you.” She sneered, followed him into
the living room, and stopped on the throw rug. “So c’mon. Out with it, St.
James. You’ve got me on the freaking magic carpet.” Her arms stretched out.
“The genie is waiting. What’s your damn wish?” The deep breath she took caused
her shoulders to raise and also lifted those tempting handfuls of breasts.

Dusty Owens had
always been the entity of Colden’s desire. Even after six years, he still
wanted to drown his face in the dampness he knew he’d have no problem creating
between her legs. He pulled himself away from the temptation and gave her place
one last inspection. “I’ve decided with all the commotion going on at my
parents’, all the wedding preparation and the company—cousins, uncles…hell,
there are people I’ve never even heard of popping in and out of the place,” he
said, noting that the vein in her left temple was thumping noticeably.

“And? What’s
that got to do with me and why you’re here in the middle of the night?”

“Well,” he said,
crossing his arms over his chest, “I’ve decided for the next two weeks, I’m
going to be staying here with you.” He smiled victoriously as the last word
left his mouth.

Dusty’s left eye
twitched, and the pulse in that thick and visible vein on her temple quickened.
If she’d had a spout at the top of her head, Colden imagined steam would have
been coming out of it.

Slanted anger
leered up at him, but he ignored it and said, “I’m sure you’ve got a spare
room.” He pointed toward the back of the house. “You do live here alone,
right?”

Her hands fisted
at her side, and she stomped her foot in fury. “No!”

“Yes,” he said,
nodding his head once. “We had a deal. I won, and now you have to grant me one
wish.”

“You are not
staying here!”

He took a step
toward her.
Damn that little tank-top.
It didn’t conceal enough of her
to keep her safe from him. “Come on, Dusty girl. Let’s stop all this. We both
know you’re going to honor my wish.”

Her beet-red
face prepared for combat. “Oh yeah? And how can
we
be so sure of that,”
she seethed from tight lips.

 “Because eight
years ago, I watched an eighteen-year-old girl drop everything. She left her
family, her future, and even forwent her college plans—all because she made a
promise to her dying aunt. She granted her one dying wish. She’d promised to
look after her daughter. Ever since your aunt took her last breath, you, my
brave little girl, have been here taking care of your cousin Sissy.” He moved
closer until only inches of noiseless tension stood between them. “Dusty Owens,
you are a woman who keeps her word.”

“That’s cruel, using
my dead aunt as an example, to manipulate me, just so you can…so you can get
your damn wish!”

It was. Colden
couldn’t disagree with her on that. He’d known it the second the words had
escaped his mouth, but it was either that or reducing to influencing her by
ripping her shirt off and latching his mouth around one of those beaded nipples
pressing to be notice. He would have had no problem convincing her body to let
him stay, but his conscience tapped him on the shoulder and reminded him that
he ought to start with her mind.

“I’ve always
admired you for that,” he admitted, still ashamed about the way he’d said it.
Working undercover for the past six years, he’d grown accustomed to paying
close attention to detail, including tight nipples begging for attention. But
giving a shit about a person’s feelings wasn’t part of his job description. He
walked over and picked up his duffle bag. “And yeah, cruel or not, I’ll use it
to my advantage.” He pulled the bag over his shoulder and looked down at her.
“So…which way to my room?”

Annoyed and
fuming, she had to know he was right. Unsure what else to do, she apparently
admitted defeat, twisted her body around, and stomped off down the hall with
him in tow. She slowed at the third door and glanced up at him. “Where’s your
family?”

The question was
odd, but he replied, “At home.”

Her nose
scrunched up, and a wrinkle formed between her eyebrows. “They’ll be here for
the wedding though, won’t they?”

Again, weird.
“Yeah,” he dragged out.

Her shoulders
dropped, and the dread in her face subsided. She opened the door and flicked on
the bedroom light. “Well, if they get in before then, I suppose they can stay
here. I have another room in the back.”

Totally
confused, Colden sensed that the line between
his
eyebrows was now prevalent.
“What?”

“You know,” she
said, sighing and rolling her eyes. “Your wife?”

The duffle bag
fell from his shoulder, but he caught it in his hand before it thumped to the
floor. He had to wonder if he’d heard her correctly. “My…wife?”

“Yes, her and your
three kids. If they come before the wedding, I have another room for them…and
of course the missus can stay in here with you.”

Whoa! Stop
the fucking ride! Dusty Owens thinks I’m married…with children! What the…?

All the training
he’d endured for his undercover work suddenly swooped back to him. He
recomposed his entirely shocked being within a millisecond. He was just about
to commend himself for that when she said, “Don’t look so surprised. Jimmy told
me about them a couple years ago.” She nudged her head. “Bathroom’s to the
left. I’m going to bed. See you in the morning.”

She’d said it so
casually before she sauntered down the hall, and he knew it was because she
felt safe. She was certain he wasn’t after her because she believed he was a
happily married father of three. Dazed, he walked farther into the room and
finally dropped the bag to the floor. He kicked the door closed behind him as
the conversation he’d had with Jimmy came rushing back…

It had happened
during one of those rare occasions when he’d called home. At that point, it’d
been over a year since he’d been in contact, and Jimmy had been the lucky one
to pick up the call. No one else had been home.

 “Listen,
everyone is asking about you, man. What do want me tell them?”

“Whatever you want.
Tell ‘em I’ve joined the Army or that I’m working as a cabana boy on some
cruise ship. Hell, tell ‘em I’m married and have three kids. I don’t care.”

“Mom and Dad
too? They worry about you, Colden.”

His parents knew
Colden was working for the government, and they knew how to reach him, but that
was all he could tell them. “Yeah, Jimmy. Do whatever you need to. I’ll explain
everything when I eventually get back.”

At the time,
Colden had no idea it would be another three years before he’d return home. Now
that he was, a smile turned up his lips.
Oh, man, is Dusty Owens in for a
big surprise.

Chapter
Three

Dusty got back
from her morning jog, walked into the kitchen, grabbed a glass, and as ritual,
jumped up and sat on the counter. Leaning to the left, she placed the glass
under the fridge water filter and filled it. She downed the whole thing, rested
her head back against the cupboard, and closed her eyes.

She wasn’t
thrilled that she had to be at the bar in two hours. She was exhausted, and
she’d had a hell of a time getting to sleep, knowing that Colden was sleeping
just two doors down from her. Had she slipped her hand into her panties to cure
the pulsating ache he’d created there, of course she had. The cocky bastard had
made her pussy hurt like hell, and she knew she’d never fall asleep until she
tended to it. Maybe it was desperate on her part, but no one was the wiser. All
she could do was try not to feel guilty about fantasizing about a married man.

“Damn, Dusty,
it’s hot in here.”

Her eyes snapped
open just in time to catch Colden swaggering into the kitchen in nothing more
than a pair of low-slinging athletic pants. Even his feet were naked. Tattoos
wrapped around sculpted biceps and curled down one beautifully proportioned
side, disappearing beneath a loose waistband. There was a spot where his
eight-pack—yes, his
eight
-pack—ended and the curve of his hip began. No
human anatomy expert, she couldn’t say for sure which muscle it was, but she
wanted to slide her tongue over it, to follow the delicious contour down past
his pelvic area while she pulled on the drawstring hanging hazardously from
those sexy, hipbone-exposing pants.

“What is this,
the Stone Ages? Don’t you have central air?”

She flicked her
eyes to his. They were smiling as if he was some kind of mind-reader who could
interpret her naughty thoughts. He hitched a thumb into the waist of his
X-rated pants. It pulled them down just enough to reveal a bit more of the
muscle her tongue was salivating to lick. She felt a tug. It jerked her hips,
causing her ass to shift forward and then slide back on the counter.
Damn
it!
She tightened her thighs, pissed that her pussy was throbbing again,
demanding attention at the worst possible moment.

“It’s broken,”
she hissed, squirming on the inside. “The central air is broken.”

Slowly his gaze
drifted to her mouth in time to see her licking her lips.
Well, if that’s
not an invite…

She looked up
and was greeted by smiling eyes.
Shit!
“Did you forget to pack a shirt?”

“No, but like I
said, it’s hot in here.” He put the emphasis on “hot” as all of his scorching
hotness moved farther into the room.

Her spine
snapped straight while every hormone applauded inside, encouraging him to come
closer. You can’t have him, she scolded every badly behaving hormonal cry that
had her hankering after a married man.

“Where is it?”
he asked, shaking her from reprimanding her inner good girl-gone-bad.

“What?”

“Your A/C unit.
I’ll take a look at it.” With a slight lift of the shoulders, he said, “Maybe
it just needs a good tune-up.”

“You some kind
of HVAC expert or something? You think you can fix it?” she asked realizing
that if he could cool things off, maybe he’d put his damned shirt back on. “I
had no idea you knew about that kind of stuff.”

“You’d be
surprised the kind of stuff I know about.” His eyes rolled over her stimulated
body. “I know how to fix all sorts of broken things.”

Oh my God!
She bit the sides of her tongue. The badly behaving hormones within wanted to
ask him to fix the ache between her legs, to give her a good tune-up there too.
For some reason, she sensed he had just the tools and know-how to get the job
done.
Hello, Dusty! Mr. Fix-It is a married man!

“It’s out back,”
she said, then relaxed against the cupboard when he turned to leave the room.

Her reprieve
didn’t last long, though, because Colden twisted back around and walked toward
her. This time, he didn’t bother halting at a safe distance, as he had done
before. He stood right in front of her, invading her personal space.

Sitting in a
t-shirt and shorts, still situated up on the counter, her body quivered when he
made contact with her slightly parted legs. Her naked knees almost brushed
against those X-rated pants—almost. Sex oozed from the man, from his eyes, and
from his pores. He smelled like it, and it glistened effectively along every
curve and ripple of his toned body. He placed a large palm on the counter, and
that look—that I’m-going-to-go-in-for-a-kiss look, the look that said he was
going to take whatever he wanted, with no chivalry whatsoever. The smoldering,
desire-drowned look Dusty had been dreaming of for years, since he’d last laid his
hands, lips, and so much more on her and in her.

It’s a little
too late now, St. James,
she hissed with her eyes. She had to stop him.
Dusty was many things, but a home-wrecker wasn’t one of them. “Colden,” she
placed a hand on his hard chest, “your wife.”

He glanced down
at her hand and his strong muscles moved beneath it. She quickly pulled her
hand away. His other palm dropped to her right and rested beside her on the
countertop. Heavy lids lifted, and she was captured by dark, ravenous eyes. The
veins in his neck thickened, and his jaw clenched as he growled, “Dusty, girl,
there is no wife.”

The unexpected
comment had more sex suddenly pouring out of him, gushing from his mouth, and
Dusty’s lay wide open, as though she were trying to catch it.

“Wh-what?”
No
wife?
Needing to confirm that she’d heard him correctly, she stuttered,
“You…you’re not married?”

“Nope.” His eyes
held hers, as a muscular thigh nudged her knee aside. Without thinking, unable
to and hypnotized by his all-consuming gaze, her legs spread open to let him
in. Taking full advantage of the invitation, Colden stepped inside. Their warm
flesh slid together as he settled his body between her trembling thighs. Heat
gathered where the skin of his hip touched her flesh. “I’m not, nor have I ever
been married.” He leaned in an inch closer.

The candor in
his eyes had her believing him. “Kids?” she breathed, needing to eliminate it
all before she surrendered, since there was no doubt about, Dusty was going to
surrender.

Mind-reader
again at work, he grinned and slowly shook his head. “Not that I know of.” His
eyes dropped to her mouth. “I’m completely unattached.”

The confession
tugged somewhere low and deep in her belly. “You are?” she whispered. The
Saint, the man standing between her legs, soaking her panties, was available to
touch, to kiss, to… Her imagination ran wild, and her hungry hormones danced.

He bent his
head, and the dirty dancing got even hotter. Through dark eyelashes, he looked
up at her. “Yes, Dusty, I’m free to do whatever and whoever I want,” he
breathed, his warm breath wafting across her partly opened mouth.

“Well…then…” She
nibbled a tingling bottom lip. “If you’re not married, where have you been?”

His palms
pressed onto the counter as his strong arms locked straight, trapping her. He
swayed forward, till his lips almost touched hers. “Does it really matter?” he
huskily rasped, and before the word “no” could escape Dusty’s mouth, he kissed
her.

Feeding from the
liquid ecstasy of her mouth, Colden’s hands shifted to her naked thighs. His
fingers sank into her soft skin, and he dragged her closer. She answered by
wrapping her legs firmly around his waist. Their perfect fit triggered a groan
to rumble from his tight chest. Grasping a rope of her hair, he tugged her
away. With her lips puffy, her eyes glossy, and her cheeks flushed, she was
ravishing. He guided her back to him and kissed her hard. Her mouth opened to
receive his tongue play, but he tugged her away once more. She let out a little
cry, instantly hardening all of his man parts.

“Girl, you
look...” He nipped her bottom lip. “You look and taste better than Mrs. Weber’s
cherry pie,” he said, since she was the most delicious thing he’d seen in ages.

“Mrs. Weber’s?
You don’t say.” A smile thinned her swollen lips as those sinfully dark eyes
sparkled up at him. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

And I’ll take
you any way I want.
Twisting her hair around his fingers, he pulled her
head back. A slender, vulnerable neck arched, tempting his mouth. He gazed down
at her. She fiercely stared back, waiting. The brazen, challenging response had
him swelling against the loose fabric of his pants.

“You feel that?”
he asked.

“What, you
messing up my hair?” She gave her head a jerk. “Or…” Her legs squeezed around
his waist. “…your cock pressing into my belly?”

His mouth turned
up. This time, he didn’t pull her to him, but he held her hair tightly, so she
couldn’t move .What he needed most was control. Her legs clung to him, and her
head was trapped by his hair-holding hand. He wanted her to have no freedom, no
chance to escape him. “Put your hands on me,” he ordered.

“Where?” she
breathed without an ounce of protest.

“I don’t care,”
he growled. “Anywhere. Just touch me.”

One hand grabbed
his bicep, and sharp nails dug into his flesh. Hot blood shot to the tip of his
already supercharged cock. Her other hand wrapped around the wrist attached to
the hair-governing hand. She gently touched the point of his control, never
pleading for release. The silent gesture was his proof that she wasn’t going to
back down from him or from his need to be in command, and that had excited him
more than she would ever know.

Colden bent down
and drank savagely from her mouth. He spun her around and carried her over to
the table, where he set her ass down. “Lie back.” He guided her by the hair
until her back landed softy upon the table. He dropped a few kisses on her lithe
neck. When he finally let go of her hair, it sprawled out on the table. His
hands slid down her, lightly over her breasts, past her belly to her thighs. He
stood up, pleased by her body’s reactions.
So promising, so…compliant.
“You
have grown into a beautiful woman, Dusty.” With his hips pressing forward, he
resumed the favorable position and nestled himself between her legs.

She gazed at him
thoughtfully. “What are you going to do to me?”

He grinned,
delighted by the question. Anticipation was a powerful thing, not to mention an
aphrodisiac for someone like him. He laid the palm of his hands on her thighs.
“What do you want me to do?” His fingers gently squeezed. “Maybe I’ll do what
you’re supposed to do right here at this table.”

“What’s that?”

Lethal eyes
slithered like a venomous snake down her body. “Maybe…” He looked up at her.
“Maybe I’ll eat you,” he teased, his tongue salivating for her taste. “Or maybe
I’ll slip my hand between your legs, pull your panties to the side, and see
just how hot you are there.”

Holding his breath, he watched her hands fumble to his
wrists. She wrapped small, slender fingers around them.

“You don’t need to check. I’ll tell you, St. James.”
Her eyelids lowered, and her voice thickened with desire. “I’m
real, real
hot down there.”

His swollen cock pulsated against the material of his
pants, begging to be closer to the hotness she claimed. He gazed down at her. A
strong need beckoned in her deep brown eyes, but Colden caught a glimmer of
fear in them too. “Right here.” He rolled his hips, chafing her heat with his
hardness. “It’s real hot right in here, girl,” he said in a steady tone.

The tremble in her hands upon his wrists confirmed his
suspicions. She was hesitant.

Shit! I’ve gone too far. I just got here, for God’s
sake.
He’d only just gained access to
her home and her body. He didn’t want her kicking him to the curb already.
Flipping his hands, he snatched her by the wrists and pulled her up into a
sitting position. Locks of dark hair spilled all around her porcelain face. She
looked like a doll, with red lips and eyes like breakable glass, susceptible
and fragile, sitting quietly and patiently, tempting and waiting to be played
with.

He licked his lower lip, then bit it.
Fuck.
He
wanted to feel her inner heat and then eat every last morsel of her, if not do
both at the same time. Fill her with his finger while he sampled her with his
tongue. Damn, he could have sworn his rod had grown another full inch. At full
throttle, it hurt like hell, and he sought release. He glanced at her mouth,
knowing those lush red lips could give him what he needed.

Was that a growl?
He took a small step back from her.
Did that come from me…or from
her?

He drew a sharp breath. “Damn. It’s real hot in here.”

“Yes it is,” she softly agreed with bated
anticipation.

After noting the submission in her eyes, he
capitulated to fear, the fear of trying to take her before she was ready. Sure,
she was hot between the legs, but when he finally decided to take Dusty Owens,
which he fully intended to do, Colden didn’t want to detect a flicker of
hesitance in her.

“I think the best and safest way to cool you down,” he
said, running his hands down her thighs as he pulled away, “is for me to go and
fix that central air.”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “Maybe that’s best right now,” she
choked out in barely a whisper.