Burned by a Kiss (9 page)

Sierra hadn’t said a word to him, but then again, Sierra was notoriously unpredictable about keeping her cell phone on her. She didn’t like to carry a purse, just her keys and a Nalgene. Drove him and his brothers nuts.

On the occasion she bothered to find her phone, they got return texts from her, that went, ’k, no, mb for maybe, and ly! for love you(!).

“I’m going to have to think about it.” At the moment Sierra was a bit fragile. She was opening a store, which wouldn’t be such a crazy idea if she wasn’t a twenty-two-year-old who’d never been to college. Sierra had stayed home to take care of the ranch and Sonny, while Santana had ditched as soon as he was out of high school. Almost the day after he’d stolen that kiss from Emma at graduation, he’d found himself on the road, heading to BUD’S.

“Ball’s in your court,” Nick said, sounding a lot more cheerful now that he’d unloaded the baggage he’d been carrying.

Santana nodded. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He looked hopeful. “If you guys have time for dinner tonight, let me know.”

He headed out of the barn, whistling, apparently untroubled, now that he’d dumped his startling news on Santana.

Sierra was going to be devastated. Santana didn’t know how he was going to tell her.

And he hadn’t told Nick the obvious: It was just one more thing Sierra would lay at Nick’s door, branding him the most useless wingtip-wearing, striped-suit troublemaker who ever hit Star Canyon.

He left to find the only source of calm he knew, calm he desperately needed right now.

• • •

“Not that I’m trying to make a habit of this,” Santana said, “but I figured Joe needed a play date.”

They sat on Emma’s porch, watching the three dogs run and wrestle in the snow. They’d be wet and muddy, no doubt, but it was worth it to see the three rescues so happy.

“I’ve got plenty of dog towels just for this kind of occasion,” Emma said. “I’m glad you came by.”

He hadn’t come for a play date, of course. With his brothers gone, it was just him and Sierra now, and it was lonely at the rental house, which still didn’t feel like home.

He tried to tell himself that Joe needed exercise, and it was polite to bring a bottle of wine by and a couple of plates of takeout from Mary’s restaurant, considering all that Emma had done for Joe—but that wasn’t it, either.

Sitting on this porch with Emma, watching the dogs play, sipping on wine and gazing up at the stars—it felt like a stress-free brain wipe.

No, it wasn’t even that.

Something inside him needed to be with her, craved her companionship, wanted to see her smile at him. God, that was the best feeling in the world, when she smiled at him, like he was the only thing that mattered.

He desired Emma, wanted her in the worst way. When they’d made love, he’d been shocked by the depth of his feelings and need for her. But more than that, he just liked being with her.

“Are you still worried about Sierra?” Emma asked.

“I am, and I’m not. She’s tough, a survivor. She’ll come through it.” He pushed away the thought that he hadn’t relayed the information from Nick. Part of him had hoped that the attorneys’ office would call and tell her, thereby organically relieving him of the problem.

“I guess I meant that she’s very focused on her new business.”

“Wedding dresses. Impractical, according to Nick, and he’s the high roller. I guess he’d know.” He sensed Emma was carefully trying to tell him she was worried about Sierra. But he would never accept her taking a job with the fire department.

But wedding dresses—that was an impractical dream destined to fail.

Even Sonny had said his only daughter was spoiled outrageously, and if she hadn’t been such a homebody, he thought his daughter would be either a CEO of a large corporation, or riding on the back of a Hell’s Angels bike. Coin flip, he’d said, could go either way.

Santana had always detected the note of tender resignation in his father’s voice—but Santana himself wasn’t equipped to deal with a sister who might be spiraling.

He whistled for Joe, and the Golden retriever ran to him instantly, his tongue heaving. Just seeing that expression brought a smile to Santana’s face. “Sierra was right.” He patted Joe’s head. “This dog is awesome.”

Emma smiled, handed him a towel to dry off Joe. She dried Gus and Bean, and all three dogs slurped happily from the water bowl she’d put on the porch. “Come in and we’ll eat the food you brought.”

He was about to follow her and the dogs into the house when the sound of tires crushing the gravel driveway caught their attention. Sierra’s red truck pulled up beside his, and she hopped out. Santana winced at Emma’s gasp, but he felt the same.

Sierra’s beautiful, waist-length platinum hair was cropped close to her scalp, standing up in a spiky, modern haircut. It wasn’t blond anymore, not entirely. Dark streaks of blue mixed in the silvery strands, giving her an entirely modern look.

“Holy shit,” he muttered under his breath. “Tell me that’s a wig.”

“I don’t think so,” Emma said quickly. “Come on. Act like you love it.”

“I don’t.” He followed Emma as she went to greet Sierra, the pack of dogs bounding along with them. “I don’t suppose it would be helpful if I said so.”

“I don’t think so. Sierra, you’re just in time for dinner!”

“Look at my new ’do!” Sierra swiveled her head so they could admire it. “And my new tat!” She pulled up the sleeve of her black top, showing off a long, ornate scroll. Something a warrior might have worn into battle, circa the 1500s. It took up almost the entire inside of her arm.

“Where’d you get the tat?” Santana demanded, pissed and not interested in the design concept. He wanted to know
why
, and what the hell was going on in his sister’s head.

“In Lightning Canyon. There’s a guy there who everybody was raving about, so I decided to get one!” She looked pleased with herself. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Santana wondered what their father would say if he were alive to see the “new” Sierra. He looked at his sister closely, detecting a shift in her attitude, a new wildness that hadn’t been there before. “It’s your body,” he said gruffly.

“Spoken like a true older brother. Come eat,” Emma said, always playing the part of a diplomat, Santana thought.

“I can’t. I just came by to show off.” Sierra popped her brother on the arm. “How’s working for Nick going?”

“It’s fine.” He was still rattled by the short haircut, tried to tell himself her hair would grow back. She looked like a delighted and mischievous sprite, and he wanted the sister back that he was used to. “We stay out of each other’s way.”

“I don’t know how you stand working for that old donkey. Just being around him gives me ants in my pants!” She laughed, and gave all the dogs a thorough scratch around their ears before getting in her truck. “I’m going to look at a space in town to put my store. I’ll pick up some doughnuts for breakfast!”

She waved and drove off, still grinning. Santana turned to Emma. “Did we discuss whether I was still worried about my crazy little sister?”

Emma laughed. “Come on. Hot food and maybe a toddy will make you feel better.”

“It won’t,” he grumbled, willingly following. The dogs led the way, churning snow and keeping an eye out for things to chase in the snow. “She looks like a boy that painted his hair.”

“She looked darling.”

They dried the dogs off again and went inside the house. “I sense you’re saying that to help me get over the shock.”

She poured them both another glass of wine and pulled the food out from the oven where she’d kept it warming. “Sierra’s just expressing herself.”

He sank onto a seat at the island, watching Emma. The dogs had settled themselves onto their dog beds, worn out from playing. Princess the cat eyed him from the top of a bookcase. The gray lovebirds slept perched together. This place should be a hotbed of disorganization, a zoo, but it was calm and comforting. Like Emma.

Santana felt worn out from trying to digest his sister’s appearance. “Dad loved Sierra’s hair.”

“Change is good. It’s okay, Santana.” She smiled at him, put a plate in front of him that he had no desire to touch. “Obviously she needed to do that.”

“I guess.” He drummed his fingers on the granite island top. “She’s so beautiful. Why is she making herself ugly on purpose?”

“Santana.” Emma giggled, shaking her head at him. “She’s twenty-two and full of spirit. She’s expressing herself. Why is short hair ugly on her and not on you?”

He stared at her. “I’m a guy?”

“Oh, and men like long hair, therefore, Sierra must conform to that beauty ideal?” She sat beside him. “Your sister is adorable. Don’t worry, someday her prince will find her, and he will love her for the beautiful girl she is, inside and out.”

“I like your hair just the way it is,” he said gruffly, eying the red top-knot of hair curling out of the ponytail holder. He loved Emma’s hair, loved the springy, bounciness of it. It was sexy as hell. What if Sierra sparked a revolution in Star Canyon of boyish hair styles, and Emma followed suit? “You won’t do that, will you?”

She looked at him. “Would it matter?”

Maybe he should be making changes, be a little more Sierra and a lot less Santana, looking for a past that wasn’t coming back. What the hell was wrong with him? “I’d still be here as often as you’d let me be.”

She smiled at him, and he perked up. It was like the sun breaking through clouds when she smiled at him, like he was the only man on the planet.

Suddenly, he knew he had to wake up to that smile every day for the rest of his life.

“I’m not cutting my hair, or getting a tattoo. Though I respect Sierra and support her for following her inner guide.”

“I don’t care,” he said, “be bald, be beautiful. Whatever you want. Just kiss me, Emma Glass.”

Emma slid off the stool and into Santana’s arms without hesitation. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He sought her mouth hungrily, was surprised when she met him kiss for kiss. Her arms slipped around his neck, pulling him close, drawing him in—and suddenly, Santana realized that this kiss was different.

It was urgent, no holds barred.

Holy shit, she was trying to tell him she wanted him to make love to her. At least that’s what he thought she was trying to tell him, but a man never knew—

“I can feel you over-thinking again.”

“I am.” He groaned as she pressed closer. All he wanted to do was grab her up and take her. He was harder than he’d ever been, aching to possess her.

She slid a hand up his chest. “Make love to me, Santana.”

He heard wind rushing past him. “Are you sure?”

She looked up at him, raised a brow. “Are you afraid this is becoming a thing? That all the rumors in Star Canyon won’t be rumors anymore?”

He didn’t—couldn’t—think about anything but her. He stripped off her top even as she was working on his, her fingers furiously undoing buttons as they kissed. God, he could kiss her all night—but then her fingers slid down his back and reached for his zipper, and he thought
God, I could do this all night, too
.

The bra went somewhere and all he could do was stare. “You’re beautiful,” he said reverently, but she didn’t allow him any time to process how beautiful she was because her hands were in his briefs, and he was harder than he’d ever been in his life. “Bed? Table? Chair?” he gasped out.

“Bed so we don’t scandalize the pets,” she said, and he knew she was teasing him, but he didn’t care. He swept her into his arms, striding down the hall with her, as she giggled against his chest.

He bounced onto the bed with her, and Emma squealed, laughing. She tugged off his jeans, made short work of his briefs, and then there was nothing between them but the tiniest piece of pink string he’d ever seen. “I’m going to have a coronary right here.”

“Santana—”

“No, no. No over-thinking. Hang on, gorgeous, just give me one second to process this much beauty.”

She lay back against the pillows, the slight chill in the room puckering her nipples and goose-pimpling her skin. Her body was one smooth ribbon of feminine beauty, accented by the pink excuse for a panty.

Then her hand closed around his erection, and Santana nearly blacked out from the sudden heat swamping him. He took her hands in his, placing her arms above her head so she couldn’t torture him. He claimed her mouth, loving hearing her gasp underneath him. Kissed her long and thoroughly until she writhed beneath him.

But the breasts, ah, he had to taste them. He kissed her there, taking the nipple of each round globe into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue.

“Santana,” she murmured, and he released her hands so he could tease her nipples as he kissed down her belly. Her stomach was so flat and smooth, the skin so soft.

The thong provided no resistance at all, and he teased her, tasting her, groaning when she cried out his name again. To his surprise, she climaxed quickly—too quickly.

“Santana!” She pulled at his hair, his shoulders, anything to get him closer to her, inside her. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted more.

“Shhh, baby girl,” he told her, taking her in his arms. “Let me please you.”

He kissed her, stroking between her legs with his fingers, teasing her clit, her wetness driving him mad. It was all he could do to hold himself back from getting inside her. He teased her nipples, circled her bud as he felt her body tightening against his—and when she begged him to make her come, he slipped inside her, bringing a cry of pleasure from her that could have been heard in the next county and nearly making him explode right then.

He made a superhuman effort, squeezing his eyes shut, wanting it to last forever. Draw out her pleasure.

“Oh, God, Santana,” she whispered against his mouth, riding against him hard. She was tight, so tight, so ready for him. Her body was made for his. And the fact that she wanted him so urgently was blinding hot, robbing him of speech and anything but the need to keep plunging inside her. Her hands pulled at him, pressing him closer to her—but when she wrapped her legs around his waist, dragging him deep inside her and imprisoning him in the softness of her body, Santana broke with a cry, coming hard, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it might rip right out of him.