Mastered By The Mavericks (15 page)

She couldn’t contain the thought from twisting her own features.
Boom
. There was Rhett, still so close, reading all of her thoughts inside three seconds.
He pressed in closer, both hands curling around her shoulders, forcing her head back…as
his gaze scorched farther into her.

Oh…
God
.

It was no different than a dance move. She fought to hold onto the thought. She’d
been dipped like this more than a thousand times in her life, posed in the ultimate
romantic surrender. She’d actually enjoyed every one of those moments, cradled by
the strength of her dance partner, able to let go and allow the music to carry her
senses.

She didn’t feel free now.

She was trapped. Helpless. A slave to his hold, controlled by the force of his stare…and
the pulsing pressure it added to every drop of her bloodstream.

“He liked what he did to you today, Brynna.” His voice was low, reinforced by hidden
concrete. As her breath rushed harder, he pushed his grip in deeper. “Ssshhh.
Breathe
. He didn’t come bragging to me about it. That was how I first knew. To be blunt,
he always brags.” He tilted his head, adopting that let-me-into-your-head-or-else
look. “That also means he’s going to try it again.”

She obeyed him and inhaled. She also heeded the order he didn’t verbalize, continuing
to meet his gaze. It wasn’t easy. His words brought a storm of conflict. What was
she supposed to do with his overture, seemingly well-intentioned—that might’ve been
resentment in disguise? Beneath his “concern”, was he just feeling like the weird
third wheel and making Rebel the scapegoat? Or was his protectiveness—and his attraction—for
real? In which case, she had a much more fragile egg to protect. Feeling like a man
cherished her, watched out for her, beyond just tossing his coat over the rain puddle
for her…it was her Kryptonite. The golden key to the softest, most vulnerable part
of her soul.

It was also a myth. The reason she’d sworn off the tight and cozy with anyone dangling
dog tags from their neck—and finally stabilized the keel of her life. At last, she
was free from the tears, anguish, and sleepless nights of expecting something she
was never going to get…at least not from these kinds of men. She’d finally given the
grown-up’s response to
once upon a time.

She’d marked the difference between Enya’s life and hers.

“Okay.” She began her response to Rhett with a flippant shrug. “So he’ll try it again.
Are you uncomfortable with that? Is that what the ogres were worked up about this
afternoon?”

A heavy gulp vibrated down his throat. “He’s not good for you, Brynna.”

She jerked her head back. “That’s a hell of a thing to say about your best friend.”

“Best friend?” He chuffed. “That hardly covers it. He’s my brother in arms. I’d die
for him. But he’s still not good for you.”

“And I suppose
you
are?”

He pushed out air through his nose. “Remember all the shit Shay spat at Reb last night?
It wasn’t empty accusation.” An expression took over his face that was either constipation
or deep worry. “Rebel’s idea of ‘long-term’ is buying a subbie a drink after an extra-long
session in the dungeon. He’s a firework: intense and pretty and perfect until the
show’s over.” His hand rose back to her face. The other followed, until he palmed
both of her cheeks. “He’s an amazing man. One of the boldest, bravest, gutsiest heroes
I’ve ever met. And sure, he’s damn beautiful to look at—”

“But?” She filled in the blank before he got there.

“But he’s screwed up when it comes to relationships. Shittiest thing is, it isn’t
even his fault.” The sorrow behind the words was tangible in the tightened pads of
his fingers. “I wish that truth were different, so goddamn badly. I want to see him
happy, fulfilled, and simply loved for the man he is—but he can’t separate that from
the child he was.” He shook his head. “When a guy can’t even remember his mother,
and has been raised by the asshole sperm donor who nicknamed him ‘slut spawn’, a psychological
mess isn’t a tough leap.”

Brynn’s head dropped. “Shit.” Her rasp resonated with shock, though it wore off fast.
Sadly, Rhett’s disclosure made a lot of sense, when joined to thoughts of the man
she’d flown here with. Rebel’s cobalt gaze exposed so little…his Cajun drawl seemed
to hide so much.

“That’s a good way of putting it.” He exhaled again, blinking hard, rolling his shoulders
as if attempting to shirk a huge weight. The broad slabs remained as taut as before.
Not stopping to let logic butt in, Brynn reached for both of them, spreading fingers
along the firm muscles, gliding back and forth in hopes of helping him a little.

“You care for him a lot.” Her soft words reflected how that truth moved her…to feel
it as a potent force on the air, so strong and vibrant, despite the asshole behavior
Rebel had dished out this afternoon. It spoke volumes about Rhett’s character. It
was sexy as hell.

“Yeah.” It husked fervently from him. “I do.” While his words still focused on Rebel,
his eyes came alive with a different energy…feeding directly from hers. He let her
see every spark of it, too. “But that’s because I see
all
of him—even the parts that never grew up.”

She continued rubbing his shoulders. He swayed yet closer. She breathed in, filling
her nostrils with his rich smell, all sage and wind and man. With every inch he moved
in, he consumed more of her vision…captivated more of her attraction.

“You deserve more, sweetheart. So much more.”

His shoulders filled her palms. His scent consumed her senses. And the rest of him…

Dear God, the rest of him.

His chest, proud and high, pecs carved into matching planes of steel. His thighs,
like a pair of fleshed-out Sequoias, making even her dancer’s muscles feel tiny by
comparison. And the bulge of flesh that sprung from between them…

Ohhhh, God
.

His cock was firm and hot, burning her belly through his clothes and hers, provoking
her stunned gasp as he fit their bodies tighter. Rhett’s returning growl was so deep
it barely ruffled the air, though the tremors through his body spoke a different message.
The quivers permeated Brynn, no longer making it possible to ignore the obvious. First,
he’d awakened her emotionally, earning the Viking prince title with his integrity
to the mission and his loyalty to Rebel. That weakened her resistance to the rest—to
admitting a physical desire that hit like a surprise storm…a force she hadn’t endured
in a long time.

Screw endurance.

And screw her damn dating diet.

For six months, five days, and almost twelve hours, she’d been a good girl. No military
hunks. No delicious G men. Barely any
men
, period—certainly not the kind she wanted to twine her arms around, stabbing her
fingers through thick red-gold hair on the way, while her leg wrapped around a torso
that belonged on a Michelangelo statue in an Italian alcove.

Cheat day, girlfriend.

Go big or go home.

Especially if a man is staring like his sunrise won’t come unless you do.

She dragged one hand down his nape, the other through the dark gold stubble along
the bold line of his jaw…then lifted her face until their lips were just inches apart.
Into that tiny space, she whispered the expression of heated need…the acknowledgement
of growing desire.

“So what
do
I deserve?”

‡

R
hett’s lungs pumped.
His blood burned. Every pore of his skin seemed to pop open at once, flooding with
the anticipation that thickened the air like springtime fog over the Thames. Bloody
hell.
He hadn’t even kissed her yet. But fuck, how he longed to—

Which was why he purposely dragged away.

Not far. Just enough. Giving himself the space to turn his stare into a caress—and
a question of its own, too. Did she really want this? Did she really want
him
after the “fun” she’d already had with Rebel today—or was Moon’s detached passion
the only “connection” she really wanted from a man? If that was the case, backing
off was the best choice. Though this might be only a no-strings stress reliever during
a high stress mission, it sure as
hell
wasn’t going to be “detached”. He didn’t play that cavalier game. Ever.

Once more, he blazed his stare over her face. Gave her no mercy with his scrutiny,
taking in every detail of her tawny brows, elegant eyes, regal Renaissance nose…and
at last, the lush berry sweeps of her lips…

The moment his gaze touched them, they parted a little.

A little more.

Damn.

Just one little move, nothing as intent as the question she’d just blurted. But little
moves were the things that made the hugest differences. They moved plates beneath
the Earth. Were the difference between first and second place.

Could transform one question into an invitation for so much more.

A more he could no longer resist—and didn’t want to. An offer he accepted as every
sexual instinct blazed to life, firing into his muscles, sweeping his mouth down to
claim hers with brutal force.

Fuck. Yes.

She was honey sweet and butter smooth, instantly opening up, letting him plunge and
stab, sample and savor, taste and drink every drop of her mewling surrender. As he
spread her jaw wider, a gorgeous yelp jumped up her throat. Quite possibly, it was
the hottest sound he’d ever heard; the hurricane that ripped the moorings off his
self-control. If she still harbored any longings for Rebel, he was pretty damn sure
he didn’t care.

No. He
did
care—about imprinting so much of himself on her, she’d wonder who the hell Rebel
Stafford
was
, let alone what he’d done to her during the plane ride.

He pulled back to let her get some air. Probably a good idea, since he needed a few
hundred inhalations too. As their chests heaved together, he reveled in the feel of
her breasts against his sternum, and barely repressed a groan when imagining how they’d
feel without clothes, the peaks pebbled and hot against his skin while he slid in
and out of her…

That was enough of break time.

Rhett slid his hands away from her face and through her hair, before searching for
purchase against the wall. Once he’d planted a firm grip on either side of her head,
he lowered his own again—and claimed her mouth with deeper force.

She exploded like fruit on his tongue, tangy and juicy, giving away her rising arousal.
He growled low, communicating how thoroughly that pleased him, before wedging his
crotch against hers and grinding with purpose.

“Oh!” Her high cry shattered the air. If he had to give up kissing her, that sound
made the sacrifice worthwhile. He kicked up one side of his mouth while sliding his
bulge along her cleft once more, delighting in the perfect circle of her lips as a
result. “Rhett,” she exclaimed. “Oh, God…please!”

Did she know what that begging did to his dick? She sure as hell did now. There was
no way to disguise how every vein in his shaft pumped with new blood, reacting to
the sweet submission in her voice. Still, he was a smart guy. He was damn sure he
had her added up, though the equation of her sexuality certainly wasn’t two and two
made four. She was a goddamn algebra challenge; a submissive who didn’t want to be
one, a lioness still seeking her lion, but looking in all the wrong jungles.

For now, it was a good option to let her call the shots. He proved it by teasing a
chaste little kiss across her forehead before responding, “Please…what? Tell me, sweet
peach. What can I do for you? Are you hungry, perhaps? Should we order a pizza?”

She grabbed the back of his head, yanking him down for another kiss. Rhett kept true
to his pledge, letting her control every passionate second of it, enduring the extra
torture on his cock. “
No
pizza.” Her eyes matched the growl, wildcat bright with lust. She bared her teeth
in a gorgeous snarl. Her other hand stabbed between their bodies, reaching for the
snap on his pants.

That was enough of that.

He grabbed her wrist. “Don’t think so, sweetheart.”

Her brows knitted. “Huh? But—”

“You’ve had your fun. Now it’s my turn to take the wheel on this op.”

Just as fast, those tawny brows jumped. “That so, soldier? And what if—”

She cut herself off with her own shriek—as he leveraged his hold to hoist her off
her feet. When he continued folding her all the way over his shoulder, a second scream
followed.

“What. The. Hell?”

Rhett marched toward the wing with the bedrooms. “If this is happening, then it’s
happening right.”

The ranch’s master bedroom was at the end of the hall, accessed through double dark
wood doors in a dramatic stucco archway. Thick rugs overlapped across the polished
wood floor, surrounding a high bed formed of walnut and accented with wrought iron.
A glass-walled fireplace faced the bedroom on one side, a sunken tub on the other.