Page 42 of Trails of Temptation

Grant started forward, then stopped. “I’d hug you,” he said, chuckling, “but I don’t think we’ve touched other than to shake hands.”

I chuckled a bit myself and extended my hand to him. He took it, and we shook hands, but the joy was clear in his eyes.

“You’re making the right choice.”

“I know I am,” I replied.

* * *

Keely was asleep beside me, her breath catching in her throat on occasion and coming out in a low purr that sounded a lot like she did when I was seated deep inside of her. I hadn’t been able to sleep, not with my thoughts roiling over what I needed to do tomorrow.

I rolled over and clutched her to my chest. She didn’t even stir. She slept like the dead, and I was grateful for it, especially as I brushed a kiss over her temple and whispered, “I love you,” loud enough that only I could hear it.

ChapterTwenty-One

Keely

The past two weeks had been some of the best in my life, and I wasn’t exaggerating. Everything was just going… right. So, so right. Everyday had been beautiful. The sun was constantly shining, the flowers in full bloom. Everything I’d cooked and baked had turned out perfectly.

And George. George. The man I’d been pining over for years and years was mine. And I was his.

Summer had never been so sweet.

But it started raining early on a Thursday morning. George had gotten home late from errands he had to run in a town an hour from Hot Springs. It was the first time in weeks we hadn’t spent the night together either at his house or tucked up in the guestroom I’d been staying in at Grant and Moira’s house. He hadn’t made it back in time for dinner but he’d promised he’d be here for breakfast, so I woke early, made a pot of coffee, and got to work.

I loved rainy days. A cozy, gray blanket seemed to have settled over the Hallston Ranch as I turned on some quiet, easy-listening music and started up the waffle iron in anticipation for Belgian waffles, sausage links, hashbrowns and sunny-side-up eggs. I’d taken Day to the farmer’s market before dinner last night and let him pick out the fruit that would see us through the weekend. I pitted cherries and plums and drizzled honey and fresh cream over the top of them before dusting them with oatmeal and sugar and putting them in the oven to bake.

The whole kitchen smelled amazing, and soon the family started to funnel in, chatting over cups of coffee. Moira had been feeling well the last two weeks—better than she had in months, she’d said. Her doctor had noticed and was now allowing her more time off her feet, something she’d been desperately wanting.

I laid out platters of breakfast on the kitchen table and a stack of plates, cups, and utensils. I pulled the orange juice out of the fridge. Moira, Grant, and Day made themselves plates as I quickly cleaned up and pulled the cobbler out of the oven. When I looked up and out the window over the basin sink, I saw him walking toward the house, his head tilted down and his worn leather cowboy hat dripping with rain.

I smiled, my chest squeezing and heart thumping wildly as George looked up and met my eyes through the window. He did that thing that sent my blood thrumming—two fingers grazing over the rim of his hat while he bobbed his head. A man like him was the reason books and shows about cowboys and the women who loved them were so popular, I realized. He was a dream. My dream.

And I was very much looking forward to a quiet day following him around while he did his chores, and a not-so-quiet romp in the stables when I had a moment to steal him away.

“Thank you for breakfast,” he whispered into my arm as he wrapped his arms around my middle. We’d all eaten on the back porch, which was sheltered from the rain but none of us wanted to miss the opportunity to feel the cool, damp air after such a hot, dry few weeks. I was washing dishes now as George pressed into my back, his stubble grazing over my neck as he pressed a hot, wanting kiss to my bare shoulder. He reached up and pulled the strap of my tank top down my shoulder, pressing another kiss there. I sighed heavily, closing my eyes as warmth spread through me.

“You’re going to get me in trouble,” I whispered.

“Grant had to go into town and he took the kid with him,” George replied, his breath tickling my cheek as his teeth grazed over the rim of my ear. “Moira went, too. We’re alone.”

“Oh?” I sighed, stifling the moan that threatened to leave my lips as his hands traveled down my stomach and settled on my hips. He pulled me against him, and through his jeans I could feel how badly he wanted me. Just as badly as I wanted him.

I practically fell into his arms, the dishes forgotten, as he brushed a heated kiss over my jaw. I arched my back, desperate for more of him.

“Come to bed,” he whispered, finding my lips and kissing me like it was the first time all over again. His tongue slid over mine, his teeth nibbling my lower lip in silent invitation. His hand traveled lower, cupping my center, his thumb circling over my clit. I hated that his touch was separated from my skin by my ratty old sweatpants and underwear. I leaned forward into his touch, my ass pressing against his hard cock. Yes, there was far too much clothing between us right now.

“George,” I whispered breathlessly, moaning as his hand slid between my pants and skin. His fingers slid through the wetness pooling there, and his throaty grunt of approval had my knees buckling.

“What the fuck,” came a voice I knew all too well. What the fuck was right.

I froze, my body going cold as ice as footsteps sounded on the back porch and the screen door snapped open, then slammed closed. I’d been to shocked to feel that George had removed his hand, but when reality crashed down all around me, all I could feel was the chill his touch had left in its wake.

My brother strode toward us, but I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t move.

And it was made worse by the fact that I wasn’t embarrassed he’d just caught me in the act, or what would have been the act if it had gone any further.

I was livid.

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