Chapter 9

Clint approached Westin cautiously, his eyes taking in everything about the scene in front of him. It probably wasn't every day he saw a grown man sitting on a snow-dusted sidewalk in his Sunday best, a bottle of whiskey dangling between his legs. Or maybe it was. Westin had no idea what Clint did in his free time. But he did know that Clint was the only one he trusted enough to call in this moment, the only one he knew could talk him down off the ledge he'd stepped out onto.

"I'm not sitting down there," Clint announced, choosing instead to lean against the front of Westin's truck. "I don't need any extra moisture on my ass, thank you very much."

"I get it. No problem."

Still assessing the situation, Clint stood silently, waiting for Westin to open the conversation.

How do you open this kind of conversation? So, my biological father is a callous ass who not only denied being my father, but also basically called my mother a whore and threw her completely under the bus? Didn't seem like a good start to any conversation.

"You have a bottle," Clint finally said, gesturing with the toe of his boot. "But it's not open."

"I've been thinking pretty seriously about remedying that."

"Why haven't you?"

Westin tilted his head as he studied the bottle he'd paid nearly twenty bucks for, a bottle he knew he shouldn't have bought while he was doing it. A bottle that would take him down a dark road he didn't want to travel. Again.

"That's a good question."

"Is this about Lea?"

Westin snorted. A lot of things had been about Lea these last few days, and if any woman was likely to send Westin cascading into a bottle, it would probably be her. No other woman had ever gotten under his skin the way she did. And the lies she was telling only made it that much worse because there was this part of him that didn't care, that wanted to be with her even though he knew she was trouble for his peace of mind. He needed his life simple. It was complicated enough being here, determined to confront his father.

But he'd done that, hadn't he? He'd accomplished his goal, all the good it did him.

He shook his head. "I can't even begin to explain what this is about."

"Give it a try."

Westin wrapped both hands around the bottle, his taste buds tingling at the idea of savoring its contents. He knew exactly what it would taste like, knew how it would burn going down his throat. He knew the calming buzz it would give him, the deeper numbness that would come with more. It probably wouldn't take as much for that life-saving oblivion to settle over him, not as much as it had taken back when he couldn't function without a drink. And it would feel damn good to slide down that hole again.

"I promised her I wouldn't do this." He shook his head as he studied the bottle. "I promised that I would focus on the future, that I would let it all go and move forward. I let her down."

"Who?"

Westin rolled his head, still staring at that bottle, his fingers itching to pull the paper from around the screw-top lid. "My mother."

Clint knew how Westin's mother had died. There were long nights during the spring spent watching over heifers about to give birth for the first time. Nothing to do but talk, and sometimes those conversations could get pretty personal. It was how Clint knew about Westin's trouble with alcohol; how he knew when Westin called him tonight and said he was in trouble exactly what it was causing the problem. Clint was a quiet, peaceful kind of guy. It was impossible not to open up to him.

Westin ran his thumb over the top of the bottle. "She used to tell me stories. I think she thought she was giving me a piece of my father by telling me about him. When I was little, I drank it all up, swallowing every word like it was the hottest thing around. When I got older, I started to see the cracks, started to see what an ass he really was. Who hands a woman a thousand dollars and tells her to ‘take care of the problem' when she tells him she's pregnant?" He shook his head, the anger he thought he'd left back at Rocking D flaring up again. "She thought he loved her, but he was only using her, and I knew that. I saw that, despite the rosy shine she put on the story. I knew. But I still had to go and prove it."

Clint was quiet, absorbing what Westin had said. Hell, Westin was still absorbing it all. He'd known exactly how it would go, but he hadn't realized how badly he'd been hoping he was wrong until it was over. All this time he'd tried to find a way to get close to Dominic Mollohan, all this time he'd struggled with the words he'd use when he told him who he was. All this time he'd played the scenario over and over in his head, imagining worst-case scenario, best-case. Something in the middle. But not once had he allowed himself to believe it would go exactly how he'd known deep in his heart it would.

"She was the sweetest woman I've ever known. How could he do that to her?"

Clint dropped down onto the curb beside Westin, obviously no longer worried about a wet butt. He leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees. "Some people just aren't capable of compassion."

"I saw how he was with his wife. Nearly thirty years of marriage and he talked to her like she was a servant, like she meant no more to him than the girl who washes his underwear. I should have known then. Should have walked out of the house then."

"You had a right to tell him the truth."

"And he had a right to keep a civil tongue and not disparage my mother's reputation. Did he honestly think I could just stand there and let him do that?"

Clint gestured to Westin's ungloved hand, the bruises that were just beginning to show on his knuckles. "Looks like you didn't."

"No, sir."

"Good."

Westin snorted, surprised by Clint's response. Normally he'd reprimand any Golden Sphinx man caught fighting. It was unprofessional and un-Christian. Golden Sphinx was nothing if it wasn't a reputable ranch that operated under strong Christian morals.

"Fuck him," Clint said. "He missed out on getting to know you, missed out on being a part of your life. That's his loss, not yours. Don't let some jackass set you back." Clint rested his hand on Westin's wrist. "Don't let his indifference put you back in the bottle."

Westin nodded, setting the bottle on the ground between his feet. "I don't know what I'm going to do now. This was my whole reason for coming up here. I turned down a position in a master's program, turned down five job offers." He shook his head. "I've been so focused on this, on proving myself right, that I made it my whole world. I don't have anything left."

"You must have something, or you wouldn't have called me. You would have just sat here and drunk that bottle until some cop was scraping you up off the sidewalk."

"Maybe."

"There's no maybe about it. You wanted me to come talk you down."

"Maybe," Westin said again. He leaned forward, stretched out his back as he continued to stare at that bottle. "But why did I buy it? What am I doing here?"

"You just need something else to focus on, Brother."

Westin shook his head. "There's nothing else to focus on. My life is a damn mess. I don't even know what I want, what I should do."

" I know what you should do. You should help me open this security firm."

"You're serious about that?"

Clint nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "I think I am. I've talked to Miss Dulcie, and she's behind it. She even offered to give us some start-up money. We don't really need it, but she's insisting."

"What about the tourists and everything else on the ranch?"

"I've already assigned most of the tourist duties to the boys in D bunkhouse. You can still do the chuck-wagon thing when you're available, but everything else is under control. And the rest of the chores, well, there's more than seventy employees on the ranch, and we've got everything down to a near perfect science. I don't think it'll make a difference if two or three of us are absent at a time. We'll just have to figure out how to do both jobs without causing one or the other to suffer."

Westin nodded, his eyes still on that bottle. "But what do we know about providing personal security for people? And who the hell out here will need personal protection?"

"You'd be surprised how many of those tourists ask about security services when they book their reservations. Rich people, Brother. They're all insane and they all think someone's out to get them."

"You mean I'm going to have to follow some rich asshole around for a living?"

"It pays well. I looked it up on the Internet. People will pay between five and seven hundred dollars a day for that sort of thing. Seeing as how you only make about a hundred dollars a day now, that's pretty impressive."

"Yeah. Can't shake a stick at that."

"And Lea helped, some. She told me we don't need special certification or anything."

"How would Lea know?"

Clint was quiet for a moment, maybe worried his answer would push Westin to pick up that bottle again. But Clint couldn't lie if his life depended on it. "She's a cop. A DEA agent."

Westin cursed under his breath, rocking back on the ice-cold sidewalk into a small drift of snow. "What the hell!"

"Yeah. Crazy, huh?"

"And that guy? Fang?"

"He's some gang member she was working for in an undercover operation. She stole some information from his computer and he's trying to get it back."

"That's what she has in that necklace?"

"A memory card." Clint ran his hands over his thighs, his attention as hard on that bottle as Westin's. "I think she's been compromised. Someone's feeding this guy information, and I think it has to do with whoever planted that box on Miss Dulcie's property."

"The dead drop."

"It was something Lea knew about because she recognized it from a case she worked a few years back." He rolled his head on his shoulders. "I think this is a lot bigger than even she appreciates. I think someone wanted her to come to this area because someone who can make her disappear is here."

For the first time since he bought it, Westin forgot about the bottle. He studied his boss, reading his face and not liking what it had to say. "You think someone wants Lea gone? Like, dead ?"

"I might be wrong. But I think so."

"You're seldom wrong when you set your mind on something." Westin took off his hat and slapped it against his hip before reaching up to run a hand over his head. "Hell, that's not good."

"No. We need to figure out who is behind that box as quickly as we can."

"I'm telling you, that one guy was wearing a Rocking D patch."

"You're sure?"

"Pretty sure."

Clint reached for the bottle and set it casually on the sidewalk, just on the other side of him, and out of reach of Westin. "I've got a friend in Denver who works with computers. I'm going to call him in the morning, see if he can enhance that video, maybe get us a good look at a face or a jacket, something we can definitively use to identify one of those guys."

"And Lea? How are we going to keep her safe?"

"I've ordered a lockdown of Golden Sphinx. Four guys are running the fence all night; there's two guys on the front gate. And Bowie's standing guard outside the foreman's cabin."

"She's DEA. Why don't we call her people?"

"I'm pretty convinced her partner's involved. And if that's true, there's no telling who else at the DEA might be involved."

"What about Sheriff Reeves?"

Clint nodded. "As soon as we have something concrete to give her."

Westin got to his feet. "We should get back, then. If something happens, I want to be there."

"I thought you would." Clint stood and scooped up the bottle of whiskey. "What about this?"

"Take it to the bunkhouse. I'm sure the boys wouldn't mind killing it for me."

Clint slapped him on the arm. "I'm sure they wouldn't." He stepped off the curb and headed over to his truck. "Follow me?"

"In a minute. I need to pick something up first."

Westin could see the look of concern on Clint's face as he headed away from his truck toward the liquor-cum-convenience store. He waved him off, smiling. "No more booze. This is something else."

Clint just nodded, perhaps deciding he had to trust his friend. "Meet you back there."

Westin watched Clint drive off before he ducked into the store. Less than five minutes later, he was behind the wheel and on his way back to the ranch. He had to admit it was comforting to see the two guys on the front gate, not to mention the shotgun one of them had hanging in the back window of his truck. He'd never been one to worry much about security—always figured he could take care of himself—but it was different now.

He bypassed the barn and the main bunkhouse, taking the trail that led to the foreman's cabin. He could see Bowie in the cab of his truck, the engine running and probably the heater, too. There was a ghost light that he discovered was the glow of Bowie's iPad when he approached the window. The man was reading, probably some biography. He liked biographies of politicians and world leaders.

Westin rapped on the window and Bowie looked up, a fog engulfing his entire countenance. It took him a second to even identify the source of the noise.

"Westin? What are you doing here?"

"How is she?"

Bowie glanced up at the cabin. "Haven't heard a peep since I got here."

"Are you sure she's in there?"

"Positive. Spoke to her when Remington left so that she knew I was out here." He set his iPad down on his lap. "And she brought me some tea a couple of hours ago." He indicated a cup sitting in the console. "Chamomile."

"Okay, Sister."

Bowie sniffed. "You're just jealous she never brought you anything."

"Oh, she brought me more than you can imagine." Westin smacked the side of the truck. "Go back to your book."

Westin walked up to the front of the house, practically jumping over the steps to the porch. He knocked, three quick, successive knocks, and leaned against the doorframe as he waited. It was a good minute before he heard the rattle of the chain, the scrape of the deadbolt being undone. And then she was there, those amber eyes a little puffy from sleep.

"Westin? Is everything okay?"

"Everything is… I brought you something." He held up the plastic bag from the convenience store. "Thought you might appreciate it."

"Yeah? What could that be?"

He rolled his head, unable to keep a small smile from creeping its way to his lips. "Just a little something you asked for a few days ago."

She frowned, slipping the bag from his fingers. She peeked inside, and her cheeks warmed, the color darkening for a moment, then disappearing, draining right there in front of him, like someone had pulled a drain plug.

"Funny," she said in clipped tones, handing the bag back to him.

"Lea—"

She slammed the door, leaving him there on the freezing porch, wondering how something that was supposed to be funny had twisted so completely for reasons he wasn't terribly clear on. He tried the knob and found the door unlocked, his momentum pushing him hard through the entrance. He hadn't expected it to open.

Lea was pacing in front of the couch. She reached up and ran her hands over her face, pulling up the little T-shirt she was wearing. Her hips, the wide band of her panties, and her lower stomach were exposed for a moment, distracting Westin for an instant. Or maybe a little longer than an instant.

"What'd you do that for?"

She jumped. She must not have heard him come in. "Hell, Westin! Don't do that!"

"Why did you do that?"

"What? Did you think I was going invite you inside, shimmy out of my clothes, and let you have your way with me?" She shook her head even as she grabbed her long braid and began to untwist it between her elegant fingers. "You yell at me for putting everyone on the ranch in danger, and then you come back in the middle of the night and expect me to welcome you with open arms?"

"You should have told me what was really going on with you."

She paused, her fingers still for a long moment as she studied him. She whispered something under her breath he didn't quite catch, a curse perhaps. "He told you, didn't he?" She laughed, that humorless laugh he'd heard escape her lips before. "That's what I get for trusting some cowboy! Can't keep his damn mouth shut!"

"Don't blame Clint."

"Why not? He was supposed to keep all this stuff to himself!"

"If I don't know what's going on, I can't protect you."

"Yeah? And where have you been all night?" She tilted her head, her newly freed hair falling around her face, softening her features in a way that threatened to steal his breath. "These boys, none of them can keep their damn mouths shut. Bowie told me you were having dinner with some girl and her family."

"Bowie doesn't know what he's talking about."

"Then you weren't gone? You weren't on a date?"

"It wasn't a date."

"Yeah, I'm sure it wasn't. For you. What about the innocent little girl you were with? Is that how you like them, dumb and na?ve?"

Westin tossed the convenience-store bag on the kitchen counter and crossed toward her, stopping when he reached the back of the couch, allowing the long piece of furniture to act like a line in the sand between them.

"You're not the only one with issues," he told her. "I didn't exactly have a great night, either. I just came over here because I heard what was going on, what Clint thinks is happening, and I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Yeah? Didn't know you cared."

"I'm beginning to wonder why."

"Asshole," she muttered, running her fingers through her hair, catching them on a knot or two. "I just wanted to have a little fun, blow off some steam. But this… things have gotten so out of control, the pressure's too high. I'm going to blow, and I'm going to take everyone on this ranch with me."

"That's not true."

"Sure, it is. You were right. I never should have come here, never should have put all these people in this position." She shook her head, beginning to pace again, running her fingers so roughly through her hair that she actually pulled out a few more strands than was probably normal. "Never should have come here."

"Lea, you—"

"That's not even my damn name!" She spun on him, her eyes wild even as big tears rolled down her cheeks. "You don't know the first thing about me!"

Westin stormed around the couch and grabbed her arms, jerked her toward him. "Then tell me. Stop filling me up with these lies and be honest for once in your life!"

"I can't! Don't you understand? I don't even know who I am anymore!"

"Then that makes two of us."

She tried to pull away from him. "Don't. I can't do this, not tonight."

"Why? Because someone you trusted betrayed you? Well, wake up, sweetheart. You're not the only person in the world that's happened to." He grabbed her jaw, forced her head up so he could look her in the eye. "My father denies he's even my father. Called my mother a slut." He shook his head. "If that's not betrayal, I don't know what is."

She stopped fighting him, but she pulled her jaw from his grip. She stared at the front of his jacket for a long, silent moment, only her feet moving, doing this bouncing motion on the balls of her feet like she simply couldn't sit still. Then she sort of folded inward, resting her forehead against his chest as she sighed, her whole body molding toward his. Westin slipped his hands down her back, wrapping his arms around her as he bundled her closer.

"Is this a contest? To see whose life is more screwed-up?"

He chuckled. "That's what it's turning into, isn't it?"

She sighed, pulling back a step to look up at him. "You can't just come in here and tell me you need some oblivion? That you need the casual bit of fun I offered you?"

"I thought I did."

"No, you didn't. You turned it into a pissing contest."

"Who made it into a pissing contest, Ms. Shutting-The-Door-In-My-Face?"

She rolled her shoulders, this look of absolute innocence brushing across her face. "I have a little bit of a temper."

"Apparently."

She laughed again, but this time there was humor in it. She turned and walked away, disappearing behind the door that led to the private area of the cabin. He watched, confused. Again. Where the hell was she going?

But then she stuck her head through the door. "Don't forget your bag." She winked before she disappeared again.

Westin rushed to the kitchen counter and snatched up the bag, dumping out the box of condoms it contained. He tossed the bag and grabbed the box, practically jogging as he followed her to the bedroom. Lea slipped her shirt up over her head as she returned to the room. It'd seemed strange to sleep in this bed she knew belonged to Clint and his wife, even stranger to know she'd cheated on him, possibly in this very bed. It was even stranger to welcome Westin into it, but it wasn't like she had a lot of choices. The kid's bedroom only had a twin smaller than the beds in the bunkhouse.

What was she doing? She'd spent most of the afternoon trying to convince herself Will hadn't turned against her, that he hadn't sent her up here to get her killed. It had to be a misunderstanding, a mistake on someone's part. Will's? Or maybe someone else was feeding him information, someone else who'd been compromised. It didn't necessarily have to be Will.

But deep in her heart, she knew it was Will. He'd set her up, and it was just dumb luck that she hadn't fallen into his trap.

What a load of bull to have to swallow!

Being here on this ranch was like a wakeup call. It reminded her so much of her childhood in Texas, so much of those beautiful days on her grandparents' farm. It was a simpler time, a time before her life was turned upside down, before her father died and her mother dragged her away from everything she'd always known. It was a time before the darkness descended on her life. All she'd known since then was darkness. It'd become so ingrained in her that she'd forgotten what it was like to live in the light. This place reminded her of that time, reminded her that her life had purpose. It had meaning. She wasn't ready to allow the darkness to swallow her whole.

An idea had begun to form in her head as she lay restless in this bed… a plan. But then Westin had shown up and reminded her that she wasn't the only one wrapped up in this mess. These people had no idea of the hellfire she was about to allow to rain down on them.

"You're so damn beautiful!"

Westin moved up behind her, his hands sliding over her shoulders as he stepped close, still wearing that bulky jacket that must have been so hot in the heated room. He bent close, his lips grazing her neck even as his fingers carefully gathered her hair and pulled it off to the side.

She was naked now with the exception of the panties Clint had bought for her. She'd ached for her own clothes when she'd first arrived, but she was growing used to the wide band of the boy-short cut of the panties. And the high-waisted jeans Clint's wife preferred didn't look so bad on her curves, maybe even better than the skinny jeans she wore almost exclusively. This country style was more in tune with who she'd been before the darkness, who she still wanted to be somewhere deep inside.

Westin's lips moved over the curve of her neck and down along the channel of her spine, his hands moving ahead, scouting the spaces between her ribs and her waist, and further, down along the base of her spine, the area just above those high-cut panties. She kind of liked the feel of his warm hand against the soft material of her panties, liked that he didn't have immediate access to her ass the way he would have if she wore her sexier thong. There was a touch of mystery to it. Not much, but enough.

He slowly dropped to his knees as his mouth slipped down along the path of her spine, his heated breath igniting a fire inside of her that had been an ember from the moment she set her eyes on him. She sighed as she pressed her own hands to her breasts, holding back evidence of her arousal even as she leaned her head back and shivered with the pleasure that was racing up and down the length of her spine.

But she wasn't ready. Not just yet.

Lea stepped away, tossing herself onto the end of the bed, her legs crossed, her arms across her chest. "Why don't you take off your jacket and stay awhile, cowboy?" she asked, brushing his arm with her toes.

"Yes, ma'am."

Westin stood and stripped out of that jacket probably faster than he ever had before. Then he untucked his shirt, a nicely pressed pearl-button shirt with a bolo tie that sent a shiver of jealousy through her. Who'd he get so dressed up for?

"All dressed up and nowhere to go."

"Not for much longer," he commented, already tugging at his belt buckle.

"Are you going to ask me my real name?"

He paused, his dark-blue eyes moving over her with an intensity that sent a shiver of fear through her for a second. Was he going to walk out on her? Had she told him too many lies? But then he licked his bottom lip as he tilted his head, considering her with a different kind of intensity.

"What is your name?"

"Lee." She leaned back, resting her weight on one arm. "I'm Lee Montgomery from Seattle, Washington."

He lowered his head slightly. "It's nice to meet you, Lee."

"DEA Agent Lee Montgomery."

No surprise registered in his eyes, which confirmed that Clint had told him everything. She wasn't surprised. In fact, she was kind of relieved. The less she had to explain, the better. Yet, there was a part of her that needed to explain.

"It wasn't all lies. They teach you to stick as closely to the truth as possible so that you don't get tripped up trying to remember too many lies." She tossed her hair over her shoulder, burning under his unrelenting gaze. "What I told you about my grandparents' farm was true. And my mom making us move, though she took me to Seattle, not Van Nuys."

"And your father?"

She sat up again, any mention of her father always a blow to the stomach. "Dead."

"I'm sorry."

She rolled her shoulders. "He was a good man, a good father. But he was a little too fond of the women and the drink, if you know what I mean. Got himself shot in some woman's bed—which is why my mom decided to split town after he died. Too hard to stay in that small town when everyone knew the truth about her marriage."

Westin dropped to his knees again, sliding over her thighs as he scooted up against the end of the bed. "I was raised by a single mother, too."

"Oh, my mom didn't stay single long. She remarried about six months after we moved. Turned out she'd been having a long-distance thing with this guy in Seattle she met while visiting some friends in the area. Within a year, I had a new little brother who was the center of my mother's world. And then he was joined by twin girls two years later. I was an afterthought."

Westin kissed her knee. "I'm sorry."

She sighed. "I can't blame her. She had a right to go on with her life. But she could have held on to her past just long enough to get me out of the house, you know?"

"That why you chose law enforcement? To get her attention?"

He'd hit that nail right on the head! She made a little noise in her throat, shaking her head, her hair falling around her face. "You should have been a head shrinker!"

He chuckled softly, his lips so close to her knee that she almost moved it so that he'd be forced to touch it. "Thought about it. I thought about a lot of things."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because ranching is in my blood."

"You see yourself doing this forever?"

"I don't know." He gently lifted her leg and separated it from the other, pushing her thighs gently apart as his fingers did a little dance on her inner thigh. "If you'd asked me yesterday, I would have said yes. I would have told you it was my dream to own one of the biggest ranches in this area. That I was going to inherit a legacy that was only rivaled by Golden Sphinx."

"But today?"

"I realized that even if someone handed me the keys tomorrow, I don't want them. I don't want to be the kind of a man who comes with that sort of power."

Westin bent and kissed her ankle, his lips slowly skimming over her skin until he reached her knee. He took his time there, his breath hot and sexy on the back of her knee, the tip of his tongue doing things that made her nipples shrink under the pressure of her arm. She moaned softly as she slowly lay back, adjusting her hips to give him anything and everything he wanted. For the moment, it seemed, he just wanted the back of her knee.

"I wish life was really that simple," she said as she stared up at the ceiling, the feel of his touch quickly diminishing her ability to think straight.

"What do you mean?"

"I wish I could see that clearly. That I knew exactly what it was I was doing, what it was I should be doing."

"You're a badass," he commented, his ministrations moving to the other leg. "You're a cop taking down the bad guys."

"I'm a federal agent," she corrected, more out of habit than any sense of respect for the job. "I'm a pretty girl pretending to be a stripper or a bartender to trick some idiot into giving up his operation. There's not a lot of smarts that go into that."

"There's a lot of courage."

"I suppose."

Bored with her knees, he began to nibble at her inner thighs, his shirt hitting the floor as he shimmied out of it. And then his hands were on her hips, his fingers hooking themselves under the elastic of her panties, tugging at them just enough to set her imagination to the next step, anticipating where he might put his mouth next. She bit her bottom lip to keep a sigh from escaping, wanting this more than she had thought she could.

"You're so damn beautiful!" His sigh sent hot air brushing over her thigh, up against the core of her. Just that little touch, that spark of heat, sent her nerves into overdrive, making her ache in places that hadn't ached in a long time. She moved her hips a little, reminding him of where he was, of what waited for his touch. But he ignored that little move in favor of burying his mouth against her inner thigh again, biting down gently, but with enough pressure to send just the slightest jolt of pain through her. This was the most delicious pain she'd ever felt!

"Hmm, you've got to stop," she murmured.

"What do you want me to stop?" He gnawed at her thigh. "This?" And then he ran his tongue along that space between her inner thigh and her panty line. "Is this it?" Then he turned his attention to a spot he had largely ignored until that moment. He nibbled at her core through the soft cotton material that still covered it. "Or this?"

She moaned, unable to even try to hold it back. "Please!"

He chuckled softly. "Am I driving you crazy?" He nibbled at her again, making her writhe a little there on the edge of the bed. "Serves you right. I've been going crazy since the moment I set eyes on you."

"Liar!" She sat up, her arm still over her chest. "You couldn't have cared less!"

"You believed that?" He pushed her back against the mattress, rising above her, one hand holding her still, the other tugging at her arm so he could see her bare breasts. "I would have taken you the second you came out of that bathroom in nothing but a towel if it hadn't been for the fact that I knew Clint would kick my ass if I did."

"Yeah? You're that afraid of your boss?"

"Aren't you ?"

She thought of her boss, a bald, middle-aged paper-pusher, and nearly laughed. "I'm more afraid of the bad guys than him."

"Well, I guess your boss wasn't a champion bull rider in his younger years." He grunted as she finally relaxed her arm and let him have an unobscured view of her breasts. "Being on Clint's bad side scares the shit out of me."

"Won't he be mad tomorrow?"

Instead of answering, Westin buried his face between her breasts, nibbling again, pulling the same shivers through her body. Lee wrapped her body around him, tugging him against her as she ran her fingers through the thick, dark hair that covered the top of his head.

"I want you," she said softly, uttering three words she'd never said to another man. "Now."

He moved further up her body, capturing her lips with the same heated passion they'd shared just the night before. Was it really just a day ago? It felt like it'd been a lifetime! The passion was there, burning through them both as they moved together, exploring each other with an urgency that made her heart swell in her chest. It almost felt like it might burst if he let her go, like her life depended on him, on the feel of his hands on her body, the taste of his mouth on hers. In that moment, maybe it did. Maybe everything depended on it.

And then the heat tempered a little. Westin ran his hand over the top of her head, his fingers moving down along her jaw, drawing her lips closer to his. But he pulled back a little, staring into her eyes as he brushed his lips against hers, barely touching her, but taking her breath away. Her heart stuttered in her chest, a new ache beginning inside of her that had nothing to do with the physical ache that had been pulsing in her core from his first touch.

"You scare the shit out of me," he said against her mouth.

She couldn't agree more. There was something about him that set off warning bells in her head. But she couldn't resist him any more than she could resist the food she needed to nourish her body, the water she needed to hydrate, the air she had to breathe. It was almost out of her control, almost instinctual. Like there was something bigger than the two of them drawing them together—not that she would ever say anything like that out loud. There was no explaining it, but her body knew even before her head that this man was meant to be hers.

Lee was tired of waiting for him. She caught him off guard, shoving him over so that he was the one lying on the mattress. She straddled him, tugging at the belt buckle he'd only managed to partially unhook. It was a big thing, sporting a bucking horse in a silver background. A true cowboy's belt buckle. Her father had had half a dozen of these from his rodeo days before he married her mother. She used to admire them, staring through the glass door of the case he kept them in. And he'd loved to come and tell her the story behind each one.

She'd have to ask Westin about this one someday. But not now.

She got his jeans undone even as he ran his hands over her breasts, distracting her with the things he was doing with her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. But she wasn't one to be denied what she wanted. She finally got his full attention when she managed to get his boxers down far enough to grasp him, to hold him in her hand and begin a slow stroke.

"Oh, hell," he muttered, moving his hips to push down his jeans, giving her even more exposure, more space to stroke him. And then his hands were sliding over her hips, pushing at the panties she still wore. Too many clothes. She needed all these damn clothes gone! And where was that box of condoms?

Too much to think about. Her mind was beyond logical thought. She needed him inside of her, and that was all she was capable of thinking about just then. She slipped off the bed, stripped out of those panties as he struggled with his jeans, kicking off his boots and sending them flying against the far wall. She turned around, scanning the room for that little bag, but he'd taken them out and it took her fevered mind a second to recognize the little box sitting on the dresser just inside the bedroom door. She grabbed it, found him waiting for her on the bed, his arousal standing tall and proud, taking her breath away.

"Oh, boy! And they say they make everything big in Texas."

"Texas doesn't have anything on Colorado," he said proudly.

She giggled as she struggled with the box, trying to remember how those little tear-tab things worked. When she couldn't get it, she held it out to him with a frustrated whimper. He grabbed her wrist, pulling her back down on the bed beside him, kissing her almost roughly before pulling back to deal with the box himself. He managed to get it open, but tearing into the condom wrapper itself was a whole new chore.

"They should make that easier," she mumbled as she slipped her lips over his shoulder, her hand searching for his manhood again, wanting to touch him, to feel him even if it was only in her hand. He grunted when she wrapped her small hand around his massive erection, telling her, " That doesn't make it easier."

"Do I drive you that crazy?"

"At the moment? Everything is making me crazy!"

She giggled again as she snatched the condom from him and managed to rip the thing open with her teeth. "Oh, hell, yeah!" he cried, taking it from her and rolling it into place before trying to pin her to the mattress. But she wasn't going for that. She wanted to be in control.

Lee shoved him to the mattress a second time and straddled him, sliding her hands over him, squeezing gently as he cried out, moving his hips, begging for exactly what she wanted. She guided him to her as their eyes met, their gaze unbreakable as she teased him, moving him against all those places that had been begging for his attention since he walked into the bedroom. She ached so deeply, so painfully, that it was excruciating to deprive herself a second longer. But she liked the desperation she saw in his eyes. No one had ever wanted her quite like that.

He sat up and kissed her, a thorough kiss that reminded her of a movie she saw once where a man told a new love that every woman should be kissed thoroughly every day of her life. She'd thought it was a cheesy line in an equally cheesy movie. But now? If he kissed her like this every day for the rest of her life, she'd never leave the house again, but she'd be the most content woman in the world!

"Quit teasing," he whispered against her mouth as he gripped her ass and pulled her hips up a little higher, trying to force her to give him what he wanted.

"What will you do if I don't?"

He groaned so intensely she could feel it in her core. "I'll turn into a pathetic little boy, begging for what I want."

"That might be worth seeing."

He slapped her ass hard, making her cry out. But she still wouldn't give in, needing to see what he would really do. It didn't take long before she found out.

He wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her up, dropping her on the mattress. He grabbed her wrists, pinning them at her sides as he lowered himself, pressing his mouth to her core, doing things with his tongue and his front teeth that she'd never felt before. She arched her back, a scream locked in her throat. The man knew his way around a woman's body, and he knew how to use that knowledge. She suddenly regretted— not really! —teasing him as he worked mercilessly on her, sending her quickly skidding toward a cliff she wouldn't survive plummeting off of.

But just as she thought it was done and she was going to lose her mind for good, he stopped. He rose up on his knees, releasing her hands in favor of her legs. He lifted her knees up over his shoulders and leaned forward. No more teasing, no more games. He was inside of her with no preamble, no warning.

They both cried out. His eyes slid closed and he twisted his head, like he was struggling. It was a long moment before he looked down at her again, his eyes filled with a fever of need. He studied her face, like he needed to see something before he could proceed. She had no idea what it was he wanted; she just prayed he found it and soon. Damn, but she was close! Having him inside of her finally was a whole new paradise, a whole new pleasure that was unlike anything she'd known before. She needed him to finish this thing they'd begun, yet she wanted it to last for the rest of her life.

He leaned down and kissed her, his touch soft and tender this time, not lacking passion, just tempering it. Then he began to move, rolling his hips, doing things that told her she wasn't his first. But maybe she'd be his last. It was too early to have thoughts like that, but they kept creeping in as she moved against him, as they found a rhythm that was theirs and only theirs. He stared into her eyes as his body offered her pleasure that should have been impossible but was somehow moving through her body in waves, a pleasure that was so intense she was sure no one else had ever known it before. She could see things in those dark-blue depths, things that made promises to her soul she never thought anyone would ever offer her. This was it. This was her man. This was… insane!

And then that cliff came looming again and she almost felt herself flying through the air as she stumbled and fell, floating in space as her climax burst through every cell in her body. It wasn't a minute before he cried out, his movements becoming spastic as his orgasm rushed through him, too. He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her hard into his body like he was afraid she'd try to leave him in his most vulnerable moment. But she wasn't going anywhere. If it were up to her, she'd never go anywhere else again.