Stripped Down (24 page)
“Can we talk?”
The horse falls in beside me. I’m not overly thrilled about nine hundred pounds of animal inches away from me, but any horse Angel rides will be well trained and as disciplined as the man himself. Unless—and I can feel the small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth— I get him on a picnic table. Then all bets are off. Angel losing control is a sight to see.
“I don’t think there’s anything left to discuss. I signed the papers. You own the place now. You go right ahead and drill those wells of yours.”
“I appreciate it.” His husky drawl is pleasant, as if we’re strangers exchanging please-and-thank-yous in the grocery. No more lovers. Five feet to the car, and this is over.
“But that’s not what I’m here about,” he repeats. “There’s something else. Us.”
His words make my stupid heart leap, and, damn it, this is just what I don’t want. I don’t need a conversation about how the sex is great, thank you, but there’s no future for us.
“Unless you’re breaking up with me,” he adds, and I suck in air. Hard.
“I didn’t realize we were even dating.” I hate the sudden pounding of my heart, the prickle of sweat icing my spine. It’s summer in California—I have no business being cold.
“Damn it, Rose,” he growls in that gruff, rough voice that gets my panties wet. “This isn’t a game. Not to me.”
“I know,” I say, and I do.
Screw being mature
. I jog the last few feet to the car. Dumping my purse on the hood, I fish blindly for the keys.
Behind me I hear the steady up-and-down of horse hooves, and then a hard arm bands around my waist, lifting me off my feet. The shriek tears out of my mouth before I can stop myself.
“Don’t scare the horse, darling.” Effortlessly, he pulls me up and over his saddle. It’s all too easy to imagine him a hundred years ago, driving cattle with maybe some rustling and thieving on the side. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but his face is fierce.
“Damn it, Rose,” he curses, when I continue to wriggle in his hold, “you’re going to listen to me and you might want to sit still because it’s a long way to fall.”
I’ve already done way too much falling for Angel.
Wrapping both arms around me tightly, he guides the horse with his knees. Our departure is accompanied by a whole lot of whooping from the handful of cowboys parked outside the bar. Pretty sure that’s Axel disappearing inside with a grin on his face. I can count the number of times I’ve seen that man smile on one hand.
“Kidnapping’s illegal,” I snap. Of course he knows this. Now he’s just being an ass on purpose.
He gives me a hard look. “Do I look like I take no for an answer?”
“They have a word for that,” I say dryly. “And it’s not a nice word.”
“Jesus, Rose. I’m not a rapist.”
I know that. I shove the memories back. Angel is
nothing
like those other men. If I said no, he’d let me go.
If
I meant it. If. My problem is that I want Angel, and we both know it. He pushes my sexual buttons in the best possible way, and my body is more than willing to be tamed by my bad boy cowboy.
“I brought you flowers,” he continues, as if we’re two friends having coffee. As if the papers and the fight over the house don’t matter. “I figured maybe you could put them on the front porch.”
Keeping one arm firmly around me, he fishes in his saddlebag and produces a little plastic-wrapped potted rose. Tiny and delicate, its miniature pink buds shake with each step the horse takes.
What on earth am I supposed to do with a baby rose plant?
He should be glad I’m not licensed to carry, because I’m suddenly in the mood to shoot his ass. I make his dreams come true, and he wants to bring me
flowers
?
I shove his forearm. “Let me down. You can’t ride into town and kidnap me. Wrong century.”
“I can do whatever I want,” he states, not bothering to point out he’s already done just that. Also, since he owns just about everything and everyone around me, he probably
can
. There’s not an inch of give in him when I dig my nails into his forearm, either.
“You don’t want to fall off, darling. Sit tight, hear me out, and then I’ll let you go.”
“I didn’t take you for a roses kind of a man,” I mock. “And here it is, not even Valentine’s Day.”
“You liked the roses on your porch. Those yellow ones. I’ve been thinking,” he continues. “You can plant this rose somewhere new, get it started right. Or, if you really have your heart set on that particular house, I’ll give it to you. I still need the water for the ranch, but you don’t want that water. You want the house. Tell me where to put it, and I’ll see it done. You want it here on Main Street?”
“Excuse me?” It’s alternate universe day. It has to be.
He guides the horse to a stop. Our epic kidnapping journey has lasted approximately one block. I can still see the bar and our avid audience.
“Take a look,” he says and swings down off the horse with me in his arms. I have no idea how he makes that look so easy. “I’m not putting you down until you look.”
“I sold you my share in the ranch,” I tell him.
He makes a rough sound. “Rose—”
“It’s all yours.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t get it. I don’t have shit without you. Take a look around you.”
Since he’s determined, I look. As far as scenic views go, our current location wouldn’t rate even a one on a scale of one to ten. It’s a rectangular square of dirt and tumbleweeds, hemmed in on one side by the mini-mart and on the other by Lonesome’s second bar. There’s nothing behind the lot but more dirt, more tumbleweeds, and the wide-open range. The whole thing screams vacant except for the picnic table parked incongruously in the middle of the lot.
“That’s my favorite table,” Angel says gruffly, his mouth brushing my ear. “I’m thinking about having it bronzed. Maybe putting a plaque on it.”
Amazing.
Angel does have a sentimental side after all. While I’ve been storing up memories of our time together, he’s been collecting the furniture we had sex on. I guess everyone remembers in his own way, although I’m betting the residents of Lonesome would prefer the plaque to skip the exact details of what we did on that table. I think about the cowboys down the street. Okay. So some of them would rather not know.
“Check it out,” Angel says, setting me on my feet.
Now that I look more closely, I spot the long tube on top of the table. It looks awfully like the one I used to carry around my architectural drawings for Auntie Dee’s house, but I know that one’s stowed away in the trunk of my car.
Angel uncaps the tube, gives it a hard shake, and unrolls a set of plans. “I got an architect to look at your plans. He’s recreated them, but we’ve worked in a few changes. I’ll put in a foundation here, and he’ll have Auntie Dee’s dismantled and then he’ll use the pieces to build your new place here.”
“I already sold you my share in the ranch,” I remind him. “I don’t want your gifts. I wanted to do this on my own, Angel. I have my pride, too.”
“Yeah. And you have plenty of reasons to be proud. You’re strong—I get that. Hell, I don’t want to change that, and I couldn’t, even if did. But I still want to fix some things for you, if I can. Is it so damned hard to take something from me, Rose? Let me give this to you. We don’t have to be square. All you have to do is say yes.”
“This isn’t about being square. I’m not coming to the table empty-handed, Angel.” He curses, but I’m holding out for it all. I want the words. The house, cash—those are the easy things. Hell, I’ve already got a hundred thousand of his dollars, although he doesn’t know it.
“You’re not coming empty-handed.” He exhales roughly, cupping my head. “You want to know why? Because I love you, Rose Jordan.
You’re
everything I want.”
I pretend to think it over. I can feel his mouth against my cheek, a smile tugging at his lips. “Put me out of my damned misery?” he asks.
“I should make you wait,” I whisper back.
“I have waited,” he points out roughly. “Too long, Rose. Seems like I’ve been waiting a lifetime for you.”
His thumb rubs along my jaw, tracing my bottom lip. This feels so right.
This
is where I belong, this is what I’ve been looking for all along. Angel is my home.
I twist in his arms so I can look up at him as I pull his familiar face down toward me. “I love you, too, Angel. I love you more than words can say.”
“Kisses,” he growls. “I’ll take your kisses, then, Rose. I’ve been told that actions speaker louder than words anyhow.”
“Kisses it is.”
I push his Stetson back, threading my fingers through his dark hair, my mouth reaching up to meet his halfway. I open up for him as his lips parted mine, my tongue licking along his in a delicious tangle. No fleeting sensation, this. My cowboy packs a punch, the sensual heat and taste of him filling me full with the promise that I’ve come home.
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The Hunt
THE HUNT: COMPLETE EDITION
Blue Moon Brides
TEMPTED BY THE PACK
PLEASURED BY THE PACK
CLAIMED BY THE PACK
TAKEN BY THE PACK
CAPTURED BY THE PACK
BLUE MOON BRIDES BOXED SET: BOOKS 1-3
BLUE MOON BRIDES COMPLETE BOXED SET
Bayou Wolves
RECAPTURED BY THE PACK
WOLF’S DESIRE
WOLF’S REDEMPTION
WOLF’S HEART
BAYOU WOLVES BOXED SET
The Fallen
BOND WITH ME
HIS DARK BOND
SAVAGE BOND
Warriors Unleashed
VIKING’S ORDERS
AT THE VIKING’S COMMAND
BOUND BY THE VIKING
Smoke Jumpers
BURNING UP
SLOW BURN
When SEALs Come Home
BURNS SO BAD
SMOKING HOT
SWEET BURN
YOURS FOR CHRISTMAS
HEATED
ONE HOT SEAL
HER FIREFIGHTER SEAL
HER CHRISTMAS SEAL
WHEN SEALS COME HOME: BOXED SET 1
WHEN SEALS COME HOME: BOXED SET 2
The Hotshots
FIRED UP
SEALs of Discovery Island
WICKED SEXY
WICKED NIGHTS
WICKED SECRETS
BEFORE HE WAS WICKED (Free prequel!)
SEALs of Fantasy Island
TEASING HER SEAL
PLEASING HER SEAL
DARING HER SEAL
After ten years of graduate school and too many degrees, Anne Marsh escaped to become a technical writer. When not planted firmly in front of the laptop translating Engineer into English, Anne enjoys gardening, running (even if it’s just to the 7-11 for slurpees), and reading books curled up with her kids. The best part of writing romance, however, is finally being able to answer the question: “So… what do you do with a PhD in Slavic Languages and Literatures?” She lives in Northern California with her husband, two kids and four cats.
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Stripped Down, copyright © 2016 Anne Marsh
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locations or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system, with the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
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Copyright © 2016 Anne Marsh
All rights reserved.
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