Chapter Forty-Two - Diane

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

DIANE

The door downstairs crashes open. In a second, I'm bolt upright in bed, heart in my mouth.

There are men downstairs. Their boots clatter, and they're talking loudly. It takes a moment, but I pick Westin's voice out of the conversation, and my tight muscles ease. Whoever is downstairs, he has it handled.

I wait, my arms wrapped around myself. After a bit, his boots move up the stairs and the door opens. He looks like he's been busy, and he has a paper bag under his arm.

"Where've you been?" I whisper.

He sets the bag down and leans over the bed. His hand goes around my throat, and he kisses me almost savagely. Excitement runs through him like a current and makes my scalp prickle. He pulls back, eyes glittering. Something is different about him tonight, but I don't know what.

"Goddamn, you're pretty, Diane," he says.

"Are you drunk?" I whisper, my heart sinking.

He shakes his head, kissing me again and swiping his tongue against mine. He doesn't taste like whiskey, just Westin. Then, he puts the paper bag into my hands and starts taking his shirt off .

"What's this?"

"Way back, I saw you wear a dress made from curtains," he says, shrugging out of his shirt and starting on his belt. "I told myself I'd get you some real fabric."

My chest warms. It always takes me aback when he notices little things. Overwhelmed, I open the bag, and out spills cloth of all different colors. At the bottom is a stretchy, silky fabric that's buttery smooth and edged with yellow lace.

"Westin," I say, giving him a watery smile.

He touches the cloth in his calloused fingertips. "You'd look pretty in this, darling."

"I think this is for lingerie," I say.

"Even better. I'll ask Keira for a sewing machine, and you can make something that'll stay on for less than a minute."

My eyes fall. He's horny; I can see his arousal under his zipper. That doesn't surprise me—he's always turned on when we're alone, always touching me, kissing me.

I tear my eyes from his groin. "Who's downstairs?"

"Deacon Ryder. He's a friend," he says. "Sort of."

I frown. "Is he safe?"

He nods, picking up the bag of candy and dropping it on the bedside table. "We had some business together, and he's staying the night because he lives pretty far out."

I nod, burrowing down against the pillows. "Okay, that's alright."

He goes to the bathroom, flicking on the light. "Join me in the shower?"

I shake my head, and his brows rise.

"No, thank you, sir," I say sleepily.

His throat bobs. He's just a shadow in the doorway, but I detect an undercurrent in him. I halfway expect him to tell me to shower anyway, but he just looks at me with his eyes shadowed.

The room goes from warm to uncertain. I pull back the covers, leaving only my blue slip between us. He comes close and kneels over me on the bed .

"I want to know the truth about something, darling," he says, his voice low.

"Yes?" I whisper.

"In twenty, thirty years, will you regret staying?" he asks.

My heart melts. Suddenly, I'm back in his truck, sunshine spilling through the windshield. It's hot and his hand is on my thigh.

"No," I say, voice quivering. "A lot happened that I wish hadn't, but I'll never regret you."

He kisses my mouth then, slow and deep. I don't think he'll ever question my feelings again. There's something final about the way he gets up and goes into the bathroom, shutting the door. I'm still awake when he finishes his shower and gets into bed.

He's still hard, his cock digging into my ass. His breath is hot on the back of my neck, kisses burning down my nape.

"Face down," he says, lifting my thigh. "Be a good girl and don't make a sound."

Heart pounding, I obey. He pushes into me, and I can't bite back my whimper. His hand comes up and covers my mouth. His cock starts pumping, rubbing up against my G-spot. He keeps that position, every stroke sending me a little closer to shouting against his hand.

With his other hand, he touches me, back and forth until I tighten. When I come, arousal spills out around his cock, staining the sheets. He pulls out, dips under the covers, and I feel his tongue on the insides of my thighs.

When he resurfaces, he's biting up my stomach and breasts.

"Fuck, darling, I could drink you neat," he moans, shoving his cock roughly into me.

Exhaustion washes over my satisfied body. He lifts me, putting his back against the headboard, and fucks me in his lap. Sweat etches down his face, dripping on his chest. I let him grip my wrists.

Our eyes are locked.

His body ripples. My body takes every thrust. The only reaction he has when his orgasm hits him is to pull out and grit his jaw. Warmth spills between our bodies, and then everything goes quiet .

I shift. Something crinkles under my leg. He glances down and picks something up from the flannel sheet.

A wax paper-wrapped candy.

He stares at it like he's seen a ghost. His expression is unreadable.

"Westin?"

He tears his gaze to my face. His lips part.

"I love you, darling," he says, voice cracking.

Dead silence. The gas fire rushes. His heart thumps. My body is floating and falling all at once.

"Of course you do," I manage.

His fingers clench, rubbing the candy to peel back the wax paper. It falls aside, and he bites it in half.

"Huh," he says. "I thought it would taste different."

I take the other half, so stunned that I'm not sure what to say. Sweet lemon spreads over my tongue. His eyes are fixed to my mouth, like he can't look away.

He scares me when he's intense like this.

"Are you gonna fucking say it back?" he asks softly.

I bend, kissing his mouth then his chin where his short beard prickles. Then, I kiss down his chest, the salt of his sweat on my lips. His body ripples with tension as my lips brush his upper abdominals, and my nails pierce his sides.

"I love you, Westin," I whisper into his warm body, into the heart of him. "I choose you."

All the suffering I didn't know was in his body drains away. His muscles relax, and he lets out a soft sigh. Then, he pulls my face back up to his and kisses me, sweat and Westin and lemon candy mingling on our tongues.

We fuck again, this time not caring if it's loud.

And, God, it's some of the best sex we've ever had.

When I wake the next morning, I hear men's voices downstairs, and it jerks me out of my euphoria. My heart patters as I pull on my dressing gown and move barefoot down the stairs, pausing at the landing to survey the room .

Westin leans on the counter, talking quietly to a man with dark hair sitting at the table. I freeze. I don't like having men who aren't Westin in my kitchen. It reminds me too much of David and the Garrisons.

I consider going back to the bedroom, but Westin looks up. The other man turns, and I shrink back. He's got a mean face, a crooked nose, and a hard mouth. His skin is covered in tattoos, some recognizable, some not. Somehow, all those parts that shouldn't be pretty make up a handsome man.

"Come here, darling," Westin says.

Holding my dressing gown tight, I creep down to him. Westin slides his arm around my waist.

"This is Deacon Ryder. He's helping me with some work," he says.

"It's nice to meet you," Deacon says. He's got a hard, rough voice. "You must be Diane."

He holds out his hand. I hesitate then shake it. I'm surprised that he does it lightly, letting my fingers just rest on his, like somewhere along the way, someone taught him to be a gentleman.

"You're a knockout," he says, leaning back. "What are you doing with this ugly motherfucker?"

I gasp, and Westin starts laughing.

"You stay for breakfast, Ryder," he says. "Then get the fuck out."

Westin is already making breakfast, but I feel awkward standing there, so I shoo him out of the way and start cooking. He sits with Deacon, and they talk at the table for a while, about the ranch, about business. Then, they go outside, and I see them through the window over the sink, standing at the edge of the snow, smoking with serious expressions.

They didn't go outside for cigarettes. They went out so they could talk about things they don't want me to hear.

I set three plates of food out.

They're planning to do something bad. I can just tell.

I knock on the window and wave them in. We sit at the table and talk about nothing important. Westin and Deacon communicate mostly with lighthearted insults. When the meal is done, I pour Deacon some coffee in a thermos and hand it to him.

"You watch that one," he says, jerking his head at Westin.

Westin flips him off and puts his hat on to walk him out. I stay inside, still in my dressing gown, and clear the table. When he returns, everything is tidied, and the floor is swept. I head upstairs to shower, but Westin takes my elbow on the landing.

"Thank you," he says.

"For what?"

"Rolling with the punches," he says. "Now, run along, or I might just fuck you before work."

I cock my head. His eyes narrow. Carefully, I tug the tie of my dressing gown open, and he gives me that look, the hungry one.

"I'm already late for chores," he says, voice low.

He looks so handsome, all desperate to have me. I push my dressing gown and the strap of my slip down then turn to climb the steps.

I glance over my bare shoulder. He's watching me from the landing, chest heaving.

"Goddamn it, Diane," he says as he comes after me.