The man was serious—Rylie could see it in Clay’s eyes, could hear it in his tone. Yet at the same time she couldn’t believe he intended to keep her cuffed to the bed until she agreed to spend the night with him.
It took her a few seconds to beat down the instinctive panic and rage. She might be trapped by his damned cuffs, but she would not let him or anyone force her to be intimate in ways she’d rather avoid.
Look at him. He’s not trying to trap you. He’s trying to tease you. To please you. Don’t hold him accountable for your screwed-up childhood.
She felt herself relaxing. Something about Clay made that easier.
“What’ll it be, honey?” Clay brushed his lips over hers, and sparks skittered through her belly like a dozen firecrackers. “I’ll feed you in bed if you’d rather be cuffed all night.”
All right. Fine. If he wanted to play rough, she’d give him as good as he dished out.
Like hell he would tame her. And before sunrise she would get her own revenge.
When he drew back, Rylie glared at him the best she could manage. “I’ll spend the night, but only because I don’t particularly feel like being cuffed to the bed.”
A smug smile crossed Clay’s handsome features as he reached up, removed the cuffs, and tossed them on the comforter. He massaged her wrists, the sensation of his touch soothing and arousing all at once. Passion burned through Rylie, coupled with warmth from the caring she witnessed in his expression.
Even though she barely knew him, somehow this man stirred emotions and longings within her that she didn’t want to admit, and had never allowed herself to consider.
Like a possibility of happiness and a future with one man.
No. Make-believe and fairy tales: she didn’t believe in either. A father who wouldn’t work and liked to scream at his wife and kids, and a mother who couldn’t stand up to him had taught her way too much about what happens to people who believe in magic.
Clay pressed his lips to the inside of one of her wrists, and flicked his tongue against her pulse point, sending a shiver throughout her body. “You ready for some chow?” he murmured.
“S-sure.” She frowned at the way her voice trembled. What the hell was he doing to her?
Satisfaction curled in Clay’s gut as he took her by the hand and helped her off the bed. He’d always been able to trust his instinct, and that instinct had told him from the beginning that Rylie shied away from real intimacy. Why she was afraid of a serious relationship, he didn’t know, but he was determined to find out.
And by the time all was said and done, she’d be his.
Rylie took her hand from his grasp and scooped his shirt from the floor. Her voice was muffled as she pulled it over her head. “So what’s for dinner, other than steak?”
When she reappeared, static caused her hair to poke up all over her head in a blond halo. She was so petite that his shirt reached her knees, and she looked like a woodland pixie. Clay grinned, holding back a laugh.
“What?” Rylie put her hands on her slim hips and narrowed her gaze.
“You.” Shaking his head, he took her by the shoulders and kissed her forehead, then drew back to look at her again. “You’re adorable.”
“Hmph.” She tried to look grouchy, but in his gut Clay knew it was all an act. For some reason she preferred to keep an emotional distance, which was something he’d have to change.
He released her shoulders to grab his briefs and jeans off the floor, then pulled them on. “How about rolls, tossed salad, and mashed potatoes? I might even be able to come up with something for dessert, too.”
“I have to warn you, I’m not into cooking, so I won’t be much help.” Rylie walked by his side as he headed out of the bedroom toward the kitchen. “If it wasn’t for prepackaged meals and the microwave, Levi and I would probably starve.”
At the mention of her brother, a cloud passed through Clay’s consciousness. It probably wasn’t real smart of him to get busy with a suspect’s sister, but when it came to Rylie, Clay had to make an exception.
“Dinner’s my treat, so sit your pretty ass down,” he said as they reached the kitchen. He took a package of T-bones out of the fridge and brought them to the grill built into the center of the stovetop. “My mom saw to it that my sisters and I learned how to cook.”
“Ooooh, a man who’s great in bed and knows how to whip up a meal.” Rylie moved to the breakfast bar and eased up onto a stool. “If you clean, too, I think I’ve struck pay dirt.”
Clay grinned as he turned on the grill, then grabbed a stoneware plate out of the cabinet. “I have a housekeeper who comes in a couple of times a week.”
“Even better.” Mischief sparked in Rylie’s eyes. “Leaves more time for all that great sex.”
His gaze met hers. “Better watch it, honey, or dinner’ll be late.”
“Promises, promises.” Her voice was teasing, but her nipples poked through his shirt. He had no doubt she’d love it if he took her right there in the kitchen.
She cleared her throat. “So... you actually like to cook?”
With effort, Clay reined in his lust and took the steaks out of the package. “I have nothing against going out for a meal or heating up something in the microwave.” He slapped the steaks onto the stoneware plate and seasoned them liberally with salt and pepper. “But sometimes I find it kinda relaxing to cook up a good meal, like Mom makes.”
Rylie enjoyed watching Clay as he fixed their dinner. The man was powerful and sensual, in command of his environment no matter where he was. Even in the kitchen.
He looked so damn sexy in only his jeans, his chest bare and hair mussed. Her palms itched to touch him again, and she couldn’t wait to breathe deep of his masculine scent.
For a while she was silent as she studied him, his muscles rippling in the soft lighting. With efficient movements he cut up potatoes and placed them in a pot with water to boil, then started putting together a salad with fixings he grabbed from the fridge.
Cocking her head to the side, she asked, “I’ve been wondering what you were doing on my ranch that night we, ah, met.”
The corner of his mouth quirked into a smile as he chopped a tomato on a cutting board. “When you were being a Peeping Tomasina?”
“Peeping Tomasina, huh?” A giggle escaped her before she could stop it. “Don’t tell me you were being Tom.”
“Not intentionally.” He tossed the tomatoes into a bowl with lettuce greens. “I was coming out to take your theft report myself, and to warn you off pulling any more stunts with Guerrero. I wanted to see you again, so I told the deputies I’d do it, then I got hung up with some emergencies and it got late.”
“Ah.” Rylie propped her elbow on the breakfast bar as she watched him, her chin resting in her hand. “You wanted to see me again. I think I like that.” She gazed at him, wanting more than that, more of him. “So, tell me about your family. Like how many sisters you have.”
“Three.” Clay gave her a quick grin as he tossed the steaks onto the grill. “I’m the oldest. I think that’s what got me interested in law enforcement—I was always on the lookout for those girls. They were bound and determined to get into as much trouble as possible, and I was determined to keep them out of it.”
“Uh-huh. An overprotective older brother.” Rylie smiled at the thought of Clay chasing off his sisters’ boyfriends. “I have one of those. Levi made it known that if any guys messed with me, he’d kick their asses.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Needless to say, it was not real good for my social life, considering Levi was one of the buffest jocks in school.” Of course he’d saved her ass once, too, and they had survived the collective hell that had been their warring parents together.
Was it her imagination, or did Clay’s eyes narrow at the mention of her brother’s name?
But Clay just nodded and gave her a quick grin. “I bet he had to kick a lot of ass to keep the guys away from you.”
“Yeah, right.” Rylie snorted. “I didn’t develop as fast as most girls, so I was more like one of the guys. At least until I was a junior and my boobs actually decided to grow, even if it was just a little bit.”
Clay’s eyes shot from the steaks to Rylie. “You’re perfect.” He set down the fork he’d been holding, and in just a couple of steps, he was at her side. She caught her breath as he lifted the shirt she was wearing and captured her breasts in his hands. “Pert, beautiful nipples. And more than a mouthful.”
He ducked his head and suckled one of her hard nubs. Rylie gasped as he flicked his tongue over her nipple, then gently pulled at it with his teeth, before moving to the other breast. In the background, she could hear the sizzle of the steaks on the grill and the hiss of water on the stovetop as the potatoes boiled over. But Clay didn’t seem to care. His thumb found her sweet spot and he thrust his fingers into her core.
Rylie slid her hands into his hair and held on, lost in the feelings he stirred within her. A moan escaped her lips as he sucked and gently bit at each nipple while his thumb teased her, his fingers still deep in her depths.
The orgasm flamed through her body, and she cried out from the searing pleasure of her release. Her hips jerked against Clay’s hand as he continued to move his fingers in and out.
“Stop.” She put her hands on his shoulders, her body throbbing. “No more.”
Clay eased his fingers from her core and raised his head. His eyes fixed on her and he licked his fingers. Every slow stroke of his tongue was like he was touching her, tasting her. She couldn’t stop trembling from her climax.
“Damn, you taste good.” He brushed his mouth over hers, his mustache tickling her lips, the warmth of his breath adding heat to her blood. “I’d better see to dinner before something burns,” he murmured, then turned back to the stove.
Too late, the thought went through Rylie’s fuzzy mind. She was burning all over.
After they’d eaten a bowl of chocolate fudge ice cream for dessert, Clay took Rylie on a tour of his ranch-style home. He enjoyed showing it to her, and how she seemed to appreciate the custom- built house. He’d had it built only a year prior, and it was his sanctuary away from the demands of his job and the political aspects of being the county sheriff.
They ended up in his den, where he worked at home from time to time. He flicked on the track lighting, which illuminated glossy oak furnishings and floor-to-ceiling shelves lining two walls. Books on Arizona, Native American, U.S., and world history lined the shelves, along with professional journals and handbooks, biographies, and anything else that had caught his interest.
Navajo artwork that he’d collected over the years covered the walls as well as dotting the shelves, along with pictures of his family. The room smelled of books, lemon oil polish, and of the case of cherry pipe tobacco that he kept to remind him of his dad.
From off the oak credenza, Rylie picked up a carved wooden caricature of an old cowboy with a drooping mustache and a ten-gallon hat that looked like it had a hole shot through the top of the crown. “This is great. Who’s the artist?”
“I am.” Clay smiled when her gaze cut to his, her eyes wide. “Wood carving is a hobby of mine. I have a little workshop in the back of the house.”
Wrinkling her nose, she placed the cowboy back on the shelf. “That’s disgusting.”
He raised a brow. “You don’t like it?”
“Love it.” Rylie poked his chest with one finger. “What’s disgusting is that you’re not only fantastic in bed, know how to cook, have great taste in decorating, and are well read, but you’re artistic, too.”
His mouth curved into a grin. “Don’t forget kind to animals and small children.”
“So I see.” She walked away from him to the shelves and ran her fingers along one of the framed photographs. “Whose kids?”
“Between two of my three sisters, I have six nieces and nephews. That’s Brian, the youngest of the bunch. They’re good kids.”
Clay eased behind Rylie, gripped her shoulders and nuzzled her neck. “Do you want to have rug rats of your own one day?”
A tingling sensation sparked in her belly, but she refused to dwell on it. Instead she shrugged and moved her hand away from the picture. “I don’t plan on ever getting married, so likely not.”
Clay turned her around and moved her so that her butt was backed up to the massive oak desk. “What’s spooked you?” He hooked his forefinger under her chin and raised it so that her eyes met his. “Why are you afraid of getting serious about anyone?”
“Because relationships never last.” Rylie’s gaze was defiant, but her hand went to her earlobe and she tugged on the gold earring. “And the ones that do, most of those go to shit. I wouldn’t put any kid through what I grew up with.”
With a gentle hand, he swept a strand of blond hair from her face. “And what’s that?”
“Being torn between parents who hate each other while they play tug-of-war with you.” Her jaw hardened and she pulled harder at her ear. “Having your mom play doormat for years, then take off with some man, and never seeing her again because she’d rather run away and play than be around her own kids. Watching your dad marry and divorce so many times you can’t remember the names of all your stepparents or stepbrothers and sisters. All I ever heard was yelling and fighting, Clay. That’s what I know about real relationships.”
He brushed his knuckles along her cheek to her ear and captured her hand in his, pulling it away from her lobe. “Honey, just because your parents didn’t know how to make a relationship work doesn’t mean you’ll follow in their footsteps.” Clay released her to let his hands slide down to her waist, then drew her closer. “You’re not them.”
Rylie could hardly think with him pressed against her belly. Now was not the time to think about her history, or her future. She wanted him again, and she wanted him now. Bracing her hands on the desk behind her, she widened her stance. “Shut up and get inside me.”
Clay’s green eyes flared. In a quick movement that left her breathless, he raised her up and placed her on the desk, its polished surface cool beneath her bare ass. He yanked the shirt over her head and tossed it on the floor, then unfastened his jeans and shoved them with his briefs down his hips.
She spread her thighs and he guided himself into her depths in one quick thrust. Pure pleasure rippled through Rylie at the feel of him inside her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. She flattened her hands on the desktop and tilted her head back, lost in the sensations.
“Watch.” Clay’s voice was gruff as he grasped her thighs with his hands. “Watch me take you.”
Rylie looked down at where they were joined. The mere sight of him thrusting in and out was enough to drive her closer and closer to peak.
Lowering his head, he pressed his mouth against hers, urging her up to meet him. His tongue slid between her lips, matching the motion and rhythm of his movements.
She moaned into his mouth, dizzy, wild with lust. The smell of their sex was an aphrodisiac, heightening her arousal, sending her senses spiraling. Her body was hot, her nipples tingling with every brush of his solid chest.
He raised his head and glanced to where they were joined, then back to her eyes. “You fit me perfectly, Rylie Thorn.” He drove into her, harder and harder yet.
She gasped and her eyes widened as her body trembled with the oncoming climax
“That’s it.” Clay gripped her legs tighter, never slowing in his motion. “Come on, honey.”
Rylie cried out as the muscles in her belly contracted with each wave of her orgasm. Every thrust sent another swell of pleasure throughout her body. It seemed like her climax would never end. Like she’d be locked with him forever, her body shuddering with every crest and ebb.
Even as he shouted her name, even as he jerked and throbbed within her core, Rylie was swept away in a tidal wave of sensation that threatened to drown her.
Threatened to steal her heart and never let go.
The telephone’s incessant ring broke into Clay’s climax-fogged mind. If it didn’t mean pulling out from Rylie’s warm depths, he would have reached over and thrown that damn telephone out the window.
“You’re in hot demand, Sheriff.” Rylie’s teasing voice murmured in his ear as the answering machine clicked on and she heard a standard message being played. “You gonna get that?”
“No.” The word was a rumble in Clay’s chest as he kissed the soft skin of her neck. “Whoever it is can go to hell for all I care.”
The outgoing message stopped, and then Deputy Quinn came on the line. “Sheriff, I need a word with you. It’s about—” The moment he heard Quinn’s voice, Clay moved so fast that he was able to pick up the phone just as the man said, “Levi Thorn.”
“I’m right here,” Clay growled, yanking up his jeans and looking away from Rylie’s frown. “What’s so damn important that you had to call me at home on my night off?”
“Uh, well...” The deputy sounded like he was uncomfortable with the news he was relaying. “Wade Larson said he was out checking his fence line the other night. The same night someone tried to steal trucks from the MacKenna’s. Claims he saw a horse and rider leaving the Flying M Ranch—and he recognized the horse.”
Clay’s gaze flicked to Rylie. She was still naked, but now looking at the carvings of old cowpokes that he’d done. “And?” he prompted Quinn.
“Larson says it was Rylie Thorn’s Appaloosa and the rider was the same size as Levi. Larson wasn’t sure, but he thought Levi was following a group of men who were running from the scene. Could have been chasing them instead of getting out of Dodge—but then, why wouldn’t he have told us that?”
“Shit.” Clay drew in a harsh breath and Rylie’s gaze shot to him. She bit her lower lip and scooped the T-shirt off the floor and left his den, probably to give him some privacy.
“What do you want me to do, Sheriff?” Quinn asked in an even tone.
“Nothing yet. Let me check a few things out.” Clay stared at the door Rylie had disappeared through. “You just see what else you can dig up. And I still don’t want you to narrow the focus. Got me?”
After he hung up with Quinn, Clay stroked his hand over his mustache, trying to puzzle through what was going on. Levi Thorn had motive and opportunity, but did he have the connections to swipe trucks, make it seem like one of Guerrero’s gang rackets, then liquidate the trucks for cash?
Could Levi be desperate enough to be working with Guerrero?
A big brother trying to save the ranch and look after his little sister...
Although the evidence was starting to point to Thorn, something in Clay’s gut told him it was all too neat. There was a hell of a lot going on around here. More than what met the eye.
He picked up the receiver and dialed up Rocky Brogan, a buddy of his that could do some quick, efficient research—beyond anything he could manage to scrape together through the sheriff’s department.
“Brogan here.” The man’s baritone came on the line.
“Clay Wayland.” His eyes remained on the doorway, making sure Rylie didn’t come marching through, and he kept his voice low. “I need you to get some down and dirty on a few of characters, and I need it completely off the radar.”
“Shoot, pardner.”
“All currently reside in or around Douglas, Arizona.” Clearing his throat, Clay continued, “Zack Hunter: ICE agent, recently married to a local ranger, Skyler MacKenna. He’s from these parts, but stayed away a long time.”
Clay waited until Brogan gave him the go-ahead. “Wade Larson, general malcontent, owner of the Coyote Pass Ranch.” He hesitated, then tacked on, “And Levi Thorn, part owner of the Thorn Ranch. And see if your sources drag up anything about new Guerrero activity in this area. I’m particularly interested in stolen vehicles.”
Brogan repeated all the information and punctuated it with a small grunt. “Give me a couple of days.”
“Thanks,” Clay replied. “I’ll look for it Monday.”
After he placed the receiver back on the cradle, Clay rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the beginnings of a headache. Damn, but he didn’t like the way things were turning. Didn’t like it at all.