The Buckhorn Brothers Box Set: Sawyer\Morgan\Gabe\Jordan (72 page)

“Don’t be a fool,” he growled. “You’ll end up catching your death running around near naked like that.”

Her arms crossed over her middle and her neck stiffened at his exasperated tone. A heavy beat of silence passed before she rounded on him. Her eyes weren’t cool now. They were bright and hot with anger.

“I can’t believe you got me into this fix,” she nearly shouted, “then have the nerve to try to seduce me and—”

“I wasn’t trying to seduce you, damn it!”

“—and to criticize me!”

Distracted by the way her crossed arms hefted her breasts a little higher, Jordan was slow to respond. He managed to drag his gaze up to her very angry face again, and he scowled. “
I
got you into this fix? Honey, I’m the one who was trying to help you out!”

She thrust her jaw toward him in clear challenge. She was so close, her sweet hot breath pelted his face. “I’m not your damn
honey,
mister, and I didn’t need your help. I deal with Larry in one way or another nearly every night. He’s a regular at the bar—a regular drunk and a regular pain in the butt. But I know how to handle him.” Her lip curled, and she added with contempt, “Obviously, you don’t.”

Jordan let his hand holding the jacket drop to the seat between them. Never in his life had he been at such a loss for words. He rubbed his chin, scrutinizing her until she squirmed. Good. Her discomfort, in the face of her hostility, gave him a heady dose of satisfaction.

“Ah.” He cocked one brow. “I think I understand now.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

He shrugged. “I suppose any woman with enough guts to display herself as you did tonight must know how to handle the pathetic drunks who want to grope her. I’m sorry I interfered. Would Larry have given you a bigger tip?”

She choked on an outraged breath. “You hypocrite! I had you pegged from the start. You sit there and condemn me, yet you were at the bar, weren’t you? You’ll gladly watch, even as you look down your nose at the entertainment.”

Jordan leaned closer, too, drawn to her like a magnet, wishing he could lift her into his lap and hold her close and feel all that angry passion flush against his body. She practically vibrated with her fury, and for some fool reason it turned him on like the most potent aphrodisiac.

“I was there,” Jordan said, “to protest the place, not to support your little display.”

Her eyes widened and her chest heaved; Jordan couldn’t help it, he stared at her breasts. They were more than a handful, shimmering with her frustration, creamy pale and looking so soft. His palms itched with the need to scoop those luscious breasts out of her bodice and weigh them in his hands, to flick her nipples with his thumbs until they stiffened, until she moaned.

He swallowed hard and met her gaze, knowing his look was covetous, knowing that she knew it, too.

“So,” she said, and to his interest, she sounded a bit breathless despite her efforts at acerbity, “you’re a vigilante? One of those crazy people who protests all the sinners, people who drink or dance or have fun of any kind?”

“Not at all.” They were both so close now, a mere inch separated them. She wasn’t backing off any more than he was, and her bravado served as another source of excitement. He’d never met a woman like her.

Jordan felt the clash of wills and the draw of sensual interest. “My only concern,” he murmured, distracted by her warmth, her scent, “is the inebriated men who leave the bar and enter my county.
Your
county. They’ve caused a few problems which I’d like to see taken care of before someone ends up hurt or even killed.”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth. Jordan drew a deep breath, trying to remember what it was he had to say. “I had intended to talk to the owner, nothing more. But then, I didn’t realize you liked being felt up by Larry.”

Her gaze jerked back to his. Her bottom lip quivered before she stilled it, making Jordan wonder if it was caused by upset at his nasty words—
why
was he being nasty, damn it?—or from the distinct chill of the night. He felt the first nigglings of shame for baiting her. In the normal course of things, he never intentionally insulted women. He was gentle and understanding. But this wasn’t a normal night, she wasn’t the average woman, and his reactions to her were as far from the expected as he could get.

“He touched my leg,” she said succinctly, “and before he would have touched anything else, Gus would have stopped him.”

“Gus?” A tiny flare of jealousy took him by surprise.

“The bouncer. The one you…”

“Ah.” Jordan saw a hint of color sweep over her face and touched her cheek with his fingertips, gently smoothing a damp curl aside. “The big bruiser I stopped from knocking me out. Why the hell was he attacking me, anyway?”

She didn’t protest his touch. They were both breathing too hard, too fast. She lifted one delicate shoulder in a way that made her breasts shift, teasing him with the possibility of gaining a peek at her taut nipples. He was disappointed to see she stayed securely inside the bodice. Jordan shook his head and tried to force himself to concentrate on their conversation, impossible as that seemed.

“He doesn’t know you,” she said. “And you looked—” She peeked up at him, a slight frown marring her brown. “Well, you looked furious.”

“I was furious.” His voice dropped to a whisper, making her eyes, shadowed and cautious, widen on his face. “I thought someone was going to hurt you.”

Her lips parted.

Outside the car, one man struggling against being arrested fetched up against the door closest to the woman. She jumped, letting out a startled gasp. Without even thinking about it, Jordan clasped her shoulder, offering comfort and reassurance. Her soft skin tempted him and it was all he could do to keep the touch impersonal, to keep from caressing her. But she also felt cool against the warmth of his hand, making him frown.

A lot of activity was going on around them, though he hadn’t been aware of it moments before. Above the din of complaints and drunken shouts, Jordan heard the sheriff arguing that he’d been called one time too many to the bar, and now he was forced to actually do something, just so he could get some peace.

Apparently that
something
was a series of arrests, and it didn’t matter that Jordan hadn’t been drinking, that he hadn’t started the fight, and that he’d had nothing to do with the other numerous times the disgruntled sheriff had been summoned.

“Nice place you work at.” Jordan continued to smooth his fingers over her skin, unable to force himself to move away from her.

“It pays the bills,” was her straightforward reply, then she suddenly seemed to realize his touch and turned to glare at him.

Jordan again held up the coat. “Do you really want my brother to see you looking like that?”

“Your brother?”

“The Buckhorn sheriff. If I know Morgan, he’s liable to be here any minute. I’m sure I’ll get the brunt of his anger, but believe me, there’ll be a heady dose for you, too, since he’d had his evening all planned and it didn’t include a jaunt out into the rainy night. Wouldn’t you rather be wearing a little more armor than lace and fringe?”

Her hands knotted together in her lap. “Do you think he’ll keep us for the night?”

She looked so fragile and delicate, so damn young, Jordan had a hard time reconciling the confident, aloof vamp she’d been on the stage with the concerned, shivering woman she was now. She simply didn’t strike him as a person hardened to life, a woman brazen enough to be comfortable with her earlier display.

It was Jordan’s turn to shrug. “Who knows? He has no tolerance for ignorance, regardless of the fact we’re related. But then again, he’s very fair and you and I weren’t to blame for what happened in there.”

Her glare said differently. Jordan smiled. “Okay, so you think I was to blame. Is that any reason to sit there freezing?” He traced the line of her throat with one fingertip. “Your skin is like ice.”

A slight shudder ran through her and her eyes closed. Jordan stared, feeling what she felt, the connection, the instantaneous sexual charge. Like a touch of lightning, it sizzled along his every nerve ending, making him so acutely aware of her he hurt. He’d never known anything like it and he had no idea how to deal with it. He wanted, quite frankly, to pull her down into the seat and strip off her costume and cover her with his body. He wanted to warm her with his heat. He wanted to take her, right now, right here, to brand her with his touch.

There were no gentle words of admiration in his mind, no thoughts of cautious seduction. He felt savage, and it shook him.

After a shuddering breath, she moved away from his caressing fingers and accepted his coat. He helped her to slip it on, watching her contortions in the limited space of the back seat, seeing the thrust of her breasts as she slipped first one arm though, then the other. She lifted slightly to settle it behind her, and Jordan petted the material down her narrow back, all the way to the base of her spine. She felt supple and firm and he relished the sound of her quickened breath.

He smiled at how the sleeves completely hid her hands, curiously satisfied at seeing her in his coat and feeling somewhat barbaric because of it. She trembled so badly she couldn’t quite manage the buttons. Jordan brushed her small, chilled hands away and did them up for her. In a voice affected by being so close to her, he whispered, “Better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Her voice, too, sounded huskier than usual, proving to Jordan that he wasn’t sinking alone. No. Whatever strange affliction he felt, she felt it, too.

The urge to touch her again was strong, and he gave into it, tucking a damp curl behind her ear. Her hair was as soft as her skin, baby fine, intriguing. It was cut into various-length curls that moved and bounced when she turned her head. Along her nape, the hair had pulled into adorable little ringlets. He lifted those small curls out of the collar of his coat. “I’m Jordan Sommerville,” he said, and heard the increasing rush of her breath.

Staring down at her hands, she replied, “Georgia Barnes.”

“Georgia? As in a Georgia peach?”

“Don’t start.” Then she blinked and looked up at him. “Sommerville? I thought you said Sheriff Hudson was your brother?”

“Half brother,” Jordan explained. He felt the old bitterness rise up, nearly choking him.

Her head tilted in a curious way. “The sheriff is your younger brother?”

“No. Morgan is the second oldest, right behind Sawyer.” Jordan didn’t feel like explaining. If he was in Buckhorn, he wouldn’t have to, because everyone there knew everyone else’s business. In fact, he decided she must either be very new to the area or very isolated, not to have already heard the stories herself.

There was no disapproval in her tone when she asked, “Your mother has been married twice?”

Jordan sighed, seeing no hope for it. At least Georgia—what a name, probably just used as a stage name—was talking to him. “My mother’s first husband died in the service after giving her two sons, Sawyer and Morgan. She married my father, but not for long because he became a miserable drunk shortly after the wedding.”

He saw her eyes glittering in surprise, saw her soft mouth open. Jordan cupped her chin and touched her bottom lip with his thumb, hungry for the taste of her, as unlikely as that seemed. He barely knew her, and for the most part he didn’t like what he did know, but he felt as though he’d wanted her forever.

Without meaning to, without even wanting to reveal so much, he added, “By all accounts, my father was the type of man who would have loved this bar—as well as that little show of yours.” Slowly, he looked her over in his too large coat, her honey-brown hair wispy and curled with perspiration and rain, her flamboyant makeup smudged.

Her slender bare thigh rested only a few inches beside his, taunting him with its nearness. His hand was large enough that he could cover the entire front of her thigh with his splayed fingers. He could caress her skin, parting her legs as he inched higher and higher until he cupped her, felt her heat, her softness. The material of her body-suit would offer no obstruction at all. He could…

He muttered a low curse. With the drizzling rain outside sealing them in, her musky scent seemed to permeate his brain. It filled him with lust so strong he felt it in his heartbeat, tasted it on his tongue. He’d never been thrown so off balance in his entire life.

“My father,” Jordan said in a raw voice, “would have been right up there with the others, sweetheart, throwing money on the stage, urging you on, and doing his damndest to buy your favors. But seeing you tonight…” He hesitated and his hand opened on the back of her head as he thrust his fingers through her silky hair, urging her closer, watching her pupils expand wildly. “…I can almost forgive him for that.”

Jordan’s words trailed off into a whisper as her eyes slowly closed, her lips parting on a hungry breath. Her invitation was clear, and he leaned toward her, already growing hard in anticipation of taking her mouth. He couldn’t believe this was happening, and he couldn’t stop it.

She gave a soft moan as he kissed the very corner of her lips, and another when he tilted his head and brushed his mouth over hers. Her lips parted on the third moan and Jordan took her, his tongue immediately sinking deep, his mind shutting down on everything except the hot taste of her, the wild, savage way she made him feel.

A loud rapping on the window jarred him out of his lust-fogged stupor.

Georgia jumped back, gasping, one hand at her throat as her face drained of color. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know she was mortified, that she’d been as carried away as Jordan. He leaned past her to see his largest brother scowling through the window.

Morgan’s hair was plastered to his skull, his face was unshaven and he wore a plain T-shirt and jeans, testimony to the fact that he’d been at home, not on call. He must have driven at top speed, Jordan realized, to have gotten to the bar so quickly.

Morgan’s requisite badass look was firmly in place, the one that had kept Buckhorn citizens in line for some time now—the same look that made them all respect him as a man fully capable of handling any situation.