Dead Man's Bluff (17 page)

“Don’t you have any self-respect?” He growled.

She rested her chin on a knee watching him jab his
arms in the sleeves of the sweater. “Of course I do! Just because I asked…”

“Then don’t sit like that!” His smoldering gaze
collided with hers and her face heated as she realized what he was talking
about. She dropped her legs to the mattress and grabbed hold of the sheet
pulling it clear up over her chest in one fluid movement.

As soon as his sweater was in place he made some
throaty sound, dragging a hand through his hair and appeared to be on the verge
on having a panic attack. He headed for the door, pausing, his head pivoting in
her direction. She felt the hitch of her breath. His gaze connected with hers, “Shit
peaches, I actually thought you were one girl who had her shit together, but
now…”

“You know I’m just as screwed up as everyone else?”

His stony expression softened a little. He didn’t
answer, before storming out. The door slammed rattling the wall and probably
waking everyone in the house. She bit into her bottom lip, drew her knees back
up and laid her forehead on them. She’d just offered Christopher Blackwell sex and
he’d turned her down. Maybe, something
was
seriously wrong with her. ♠

Eighteen

Megan felt his powerful presence consuming her. His
arms circled her waist and his breath was hot on the back of her neck as his
hands slid down over her thighs, working the fabric of her dress slowly up inch
by inch. His touch over her skin was hot and evoked sensations that made her
moan and arch into him. She gave in, feeling more affectionate and turned on
than she’d ever felt in her life. Her hand moved down between the sheets
covering his on her inner thigh, guiding him to where she was drenched with
arousal. Nobody existed… except the two of them. Nothing mattered but how they
made each other feel.

“I love you… I always have,” he whispered, warm
breath over her naked shoulder as his lips followed his words.

She moaned again, caught up in the landslide of
pleasure as his fingers hit their mark. Could this really be happening? She
blinked open her eyes, squinting against the extremely bright morning sun
pouring into the room. Ouch! Her head throbbed and her mouth tasted as if she’d
definitely puked at some point of the night.

Thank God! It was only a dream, but then she
realized the powerful presence was still there, nuzzled up against her back. His
arms were wrapped possessively around her waist and warm breath? Yeah, there
was that too coming from his snoring, his little puffs of breath raising the
hairs on the back of her neck. It was irritating, not the least bit adorable.
At least that’s what she told herself.

Oh shit, was he completely nude? She reached a hand
behind her to inspect the magnitude of her horror and touched a thigh. She
relaxed. He was wearing his jogging pants, but their legs were tangled beneath
the sheet: his leg crammed between hers. Could he be any closer?

Carefully, working really hard not to wake him, she rose
up on an elbow and glanced back over her shoulder. He appeared harmless when he
slept; making her momentarily hesitate wondering how many other women had
watched him sleep like that? She studied him: his thick lashes that any girl
would love to have. His slightly parted lips. Strong jaw. Stubble. Dangerously
sex, she’d experienced firsthand.

It
wasn’t fair, he’d been hers.

Hers?

Now he had a long list of sluts he’d experimented
with, played with. Sluts she was certain were a lot more entertaining in bed
than she would ever be. What was his preference: Blondes with jugs for breast
or the sophisticated type who wore thigh-high black boots with expensive
lingerie and smoked long slender cigarettes? Whoa, women like that don’t exist
except in movies, do they? Regardless, other women had touched him, pleasured
him.

“There has always been an …us.” She vaguely
remembered him saying something to that effect last night. She laughed out
loud.

Damn Liar.

Suddenly, she had the strong urge to smoother him in
his sleep with a pillow. Instead she attempted to wiggle out of the devils clutches.
She peeled his fingers off of her body and went to sit up. The mattress
squeaked and his snoring abruptly died off and none too attractively. It gave
her some small satisfaction that maybe those women had been in her position…
trying to escape.

His thick eye lashes fluttered and then he was
gazing up at her with a look of affection that caused her to suck in a breath
and hold it. Damn the bad luck. She wanted him to speak, knowing he’d somehow
obliterate the lust she was feeling by just looking at him.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he muttered in a
drowsy voice as he yawned and a stretched. Another wide-mouthed yawn and then
he was rolling out of the bed saying something about needing to take a piss.

Yep, the mouth opens and he ruins it.

The two minutes he was gone gave her plenty of time
to stew in her anger. She crawled out of the bed dragging a pillow with her
wearing the red dress from the night before and tiptoed over by the bedroom
door. As soon as he stepped over the threshold she clobbered him with the
pillow: in his gut, across his back, his head...while his arms offered little
protection from the fluff smacking him. “You make me sick!” Whap! “You’re an
arrogant coldhearted asshole!” Wham!  

“Hey, watch the lip!” he warned. She paused, pillow
reared back over her right shoulder. The corner of his mouth edged up wickedly,
“Unless this whole beating is just an excuse … so you can have another chance
to blow on my lip. I’ve got something else you might enjoy blowing on if you’re
in the mood.”

She slung right for his head and his hand shot out, confiscating
her weapon and then he just stood there, smirking, holding her damn pillow
hostage. “Is there a problem?” He extended his wounded bottom lip. “If you’re
sexually frustrated, baby, all you have to do is ask.”

“Do not ever try to get into bed with me again! Conner
would have a fit if he knew we slept in the same bed together!” She ordered,
while he just grinned at her as if her anger was
cute
. She was royally
pissed and about to continue cussing him for his crude remarks when…

Smack! The pillow struck her across the side of her face
and her jaw went slack from the shock. She blew the hair glued to her cheeks
off and then realization hit her. He wasn’t taking any of this a bit serious.
That was Drew, never serious. She lunged for the pillow grabbing a corner of
it. “Give me the pillow, Drew! I promise… if you give it to me I want hit you with
it!”

“Yeah, riight..”He cradled it to his stomach like a
football player cradling his precious football as the other team goes in for
the kill. “You seriously think I’m stupid enough to give you this thing back?
Baby, I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“You act like it.”

Laughter erupted from his chest. They wrestled a few
more minutes for who would have the control. He kept trying to go for her legs,
a tactic she figured he’d learned playing football, and most likely a move
guaranteed to put her flat on her back. She was relentless and almost had the
pillow wormed out of his hands when he said, “I have to admit… wrestling with
you while you’re wearing that dress is giving me a boner.”

“Oh. My. God.” She released her hold, panting hard,
her heart racing. Her cheeks flamed. “Alright, that’s it! I give up for real.
You’re a morally corrupted. I’m going to go take a shower… be gone when I get
back.”

“Morally corrupted?” He laughed out, a palm going to
his chest as if she’d wounded his ego. Probably elevated it was more like it. He
knew exactly what he was. “Come on Filly, you know I was just kidding.”

She slammed the bedroom door in his smug face,
thankful for the barrier suddenly between them. ♠

Drew was sitting at the kitchen table eating a bowl
of cereal, when Chris dropped down in the seat across from him. Chris hissed in
a breath, cringing at the sight of Drew’s busted lip and the bluish-purple
bruise along his jaw, a jaw that had obviously not seen a razor yet that
morning.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have punched you.” There
he’d said it. It had killed him, but he’d gotten it past the bolder pressing
against his chest. He knew his hatred was unwarranted, but it was still there,
painful like a harpoon shoved under a toenail.

He waited, for what he didn’t know. He didn’t expect
much, not from a Mackenzie. Drew absently chewed, staring over Chris’s right
shoulder. Chris scratched his own jaw turning to see what was interesting
behind him. Nothing but a lemon colored wall. Guess his apology fell on deaf
ears. He drummed his hands on the table top and pushed up out of the chair. “Alright
then, nice talking to you.”

The open box of frosted flakes scratched over the
table top to his side of the table. “Bowls are in the top cabinet on the left
side of the sink. Spoons are in the drawer to the right of the sink.”

Chris stood, shocked. “Ooo-kay.” There was a burst
of movement around the kitchen: cabinet doors opened and shut, silverware
collided in the drawer, then Chris rattled the box of Frosted Flakes filling
his bowl to the rim. He covered the mound of cereal with a hand and pressed
down with the heel of it compacting the flakes into a crumbled heap. He glanced
up. Drew’s jaw had stopping working and his spoon hovered near his mouth. Chris
shrugged a shoulder, “It’s a habit, sorry.”

“I know. I have the same habit. It drives Filly
insane. She thinks I do it because it pisses her off.”

Chris scooted his chair closer the table. “Do you?”

“Do I what?

“… deliberately try to piss her off?”

“Nope, it just comes naturally,” Drew answered
around a mouth full of cereal, smirking.

Chris shook his head, rich laughter rumbling in his
chest. He picked up his spoon, submerging it his cereal before the flakes
turned soggy. “Strange thing is someone was definitely in her room last night… do
I detect a reconciliation on the horizon?”

Drew raised a brow. “Who do I look like? You’re
brother?” Milk also came out of Chris’s nose. Drew continued, unaware. “I’m not
telling you shit.”

“Touché. You’re right… it’s none of my business.” On
to something else, “I’m thinking about hanging around the ranch for a couple of
days. How do you feel about that?”

“Are we a bed and breakfast?”

“If you are… I have to say this is a pretty crappy
breakfast.”

Drew was quiet for a moment, his gaze narrowing
suspiciously, and then he shrugged a shoulder. “Birdie’s motto is ‘everyone is always
welcome’ even my father. She’d be disappointed if I turned away a new stray. Are
you still considering buying?”

“Relax, I’m thinking the whole me owning a ranch
idea was a bad one. So, do you think we can be civil to each other for a couple
of days?”

“I don’t know… do you know anything about working on
cars?”

“Probably more than you.” ♠

Nineteen

Megan tugged the warm afghan up to her chin as she
stretched out on the couch her body settling into the comfort of the cushions.
She was wearing a button down sweater left undone over a baggy T-shirt, no bra,
and a pair of cotton shorts. Her hair was pulled up in a messy pony tail. Of
course she looked like absolute crap, but the day had that lazy feel, and
that’s exactly what she planned on being… lazy, lazy like a salamander basking
on a rock on hazy hot day.   

Heavy rain hammered the tin roof overhead and lightening
lit the dreary den for a couple of beats, followed by a soft roll of fading thunder.
It was also the perfect day for watching a chick flick. She already knew the
one, “My Best Friend’s Wedding”. She’d seen it countless times, but it never grew
old. Her favorite line from the movie was when Kimmy Wallace said, “He’s got
you on a pedestal and me in his arms.”

What Megan hadn’t intended on was having company. With
Drew came the stink of popcorn, one snack she’d never been partial to. “Want
some?” He stood over her and rattled the contents of the large bowl up high.

She glanced up at him through lowered lashes. “What
do you expect me to do… jump up and down for it like a dog?”

“Wow, somebody is in a pissy mood.” He dropped the
bowl down to her level, rattling it with a smirk. She wrinkled her nose and slapped
at his hip, a clear indication for him to move aside. He raised a dark brow. “You
don’t like popcorn? Was wrong with you? Everybody likes popcorn.”

“Drew, seriously, I’m trying to watch a movie.” She
hated the whinny tone to her voice, but he was annoying same as a bug that
wouldn’t stop buzzing around your ear.

“What exactly are we watching?” He asked circling
her legs with a muscled arm and lifting them as if they were a toll bridge he needed
to pass under. He crashed down settling her legs across his lap. Too much
touching was involved. His hair was a hot mess, he hadn’t shaved and his bottom
lip was still swollen, which made her want to kiss it. Yes, someone was in a
pissy mood, because there was suddenly way too much stimulating male in the
room for comfort.