Page 7 of Sovereign

I have my doubts that she's being satisfied. I’ve never met a Garrison who gave a fuck about anyone but themselves.

There’s a place just before I turn into the long drive that leads to my ranch where I can see for miles. I turn the bend and pulloff at the overlook. Silence falls. I rummage in the glove box and come up with a stale cigarette.

I don’t smoke, but I need a cigarette after meeting Keira Garrison.

I step out onto the gravel and light it, inhaling deeply. The tingling calm seeps through my veins and my eyes roam the dark horizon. The stars hang heavy, there’s no light pollution to fade them. I can’t make out the ground, but far away I see the opening between the cliffs.

Tomorrow, Clint, myself, and our men will go up to the cliffs and bring the cattle down. I’ll sell, he’ll deposit the money into my account, we’ll shake hands without meeting eyes, and I’ll never see Keira again.

That thought makes me fucking sick.

I’ve heard people talk about soulmates, about the one person out there made just for you. But I never believed it. And I still don’t. But I do believe in chemistry, and I felt that electricity spark in my veins as we sat in that office together. I’ve never had my body respond to anyone that quickly before. And now I have to live with that.

I have to know everything about her or I won’t be able to rest.

The cliffs keep my eyes occupied as I finish my cigarette. They’re a dangerous area, especially at this time of year when the weather can turn easily. Where all it takes to send a herd of cattle stampeding through the narrow opening is a storm rolling over the hills without warning.

It would be a fucking pity if something were to happen tomorrow.

I stab out my cigarette and get back into the truck. Once I’m home, I go to bed, but I don’t sleep. All I can think about is the way she called me sir. Lids lowered, husky voice going right to my groin.

I lie awake until dawn.

CHAPTER THREE

KEIRA

After Gerard Sovereign leaves, I rush upstairs and shut the bedroom door.

My heart pounds. My mouth tastes like whiskey. I rarely drink so it hits my brain right away and warmth creeps over my nerves.

Never, not once, has Clint made me feel like this. Teased, desired, and thoroughly seen. He dragged those pale blue eyes over every inch of my body. If I wasn’t married, I know he’d have done the same with his hands.

God, he has big hands. Thick, square at the tips. Neatly trimmed nails, scars on his knuckles, and calloused palms.

My back arcs, pushing my ass against the door. I’m acutely aware the space between my thighs is empty. All I can think of is how good his fingers would feel pushed inside me.

My fist clenches, bunching my dress. Pulling the skirt up to my waist. My other hand slips beneath my panties, searching. My breath sucks in as my fingertips slip over the seam of my pussy. Playing in the wetness there before slipping over my clit.

I can feel my heartbeat there. My clit is so tender that I feel pressure ache through my sex as I start rubbing it. I haven’tmasturbated in so long. Not since the last trip Clint took out of town. When he fucks me, it leaves me dry. The rest of the time, I’m too tired for desire.

But tonight, I’m soaked.

And it’s all for a man I barely know.

Downstairs, I hear the men leave the office and go outside. My fingers move faster, my hips thrusting up against my hand hungrily. An orgasm rises and coils closer and closer. Sending heat surging through my lower belly and thighs.

The memory of his hand in my hair flashes through my brain and I come, hips shuddering so hard I almost fall.

Guilt floods me so fast I barely have time to recover. I stumble into the bathroom and wash my hands. My eyes snap up and meet my reflection’s glassy stare. My cheeks and nose are pink. My hands shake as I scrub them hard.

For the first time in years, I look alive.

I’m so shaken, I just sit on the bed and wait for Clint. My husband doesn’t come up for another hour and I take every minute of that time to compose myself. Guilt still creeps in as he enters our room and closes the door.

He takes his boots off.

“What are you looking at?” He scowls.

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