Long after his day ended and the evening staff at the guest ranch took over entertaining the guests—including a campfire and roasting marshmallows—Nash entered Kinky Spurs, ready to make amends with Megan for earlier. He hadn’t known she would be at Harrison’s, and the last thing he wanted was for her to get caught up in all this.
The bar was busy tonight, and Nash’s nose tickled from the excessive amount of perfume the women he passed wore. That’s what he liked about Megan—she never overdid anything. The country band, which included his friend Dalton who was strumming his guitar and singing a Blake Shelton classic, entertained the crowd on the dance floor. The space was full of half-drunk twenty-somethings and thirty-somethings. Tables were full of customers eating Kinky Spurs’ famous chicken wings that went from mild to so damn hot it would bring spicy food lovers to their knees. Nash had once been among them, always looking for a good challenge.
The noise began to fade as he wove his way through the full tables and spotted Megan behind the bar. Truly, he did not know how such a beautiful and good woman came from Clint Harrison. Sure, Megan had a lot of her mother in her, but the man had helped raise her. And no matter what, the fence cutting stank like Clint and his cold, dead heart. Not long ago, Clint had almost had his greedy hands on Blackshaw land until Emma thought up the idea of the guest ranch to keep the business afloat. Still, Clint’s desire to stay on top would never fade.
Nash knew this about Clint because he understood that type of hunger. Nash had that same intensity for the woman who placed a Foxy Diva, a beer from the local Three Chicks Brewery, in front of him without a hitch to her step. The woman with the sandy-brown hair and the unique eyes. One blue. One brown. And a dusting of cute freckles across her nose. “Not talking to me?” he called out.
She turned, giving him a great view of her magnificent ass in her tight jean shorts that seemed even tighter lately. He liked those shorts. A lot. “What can I get ya?” she said, addressing the customer next to him.
Nash chuckled and took a long sip of the crisp cold beer. This was their game, for more years than he dared to count. A game he liked. And one he had gotten very good at because he knew this woman. He knew her more than he knew anyone. And that came from years of wanting her and watching her every move.
Still, her lack of eye contact bothered him. The one thing he hated more than Clint was that her bastard father came between him and Megan. Certain things he would allow, considering he enjoyed the push and pull between them. But hurting or upsetting her was not something he ever set out to do.
When he lowered the beer, he noticed the tension on her face. Damn, she was pissed. Intent to fix that, when she ducked under the bar’s gate and headed into the back, he took a long sip of his beer then followed her.
No one stopped him as he journeyed into the kitchen. In typical style for a night at Kinky Spurs, the kitchen staff were busy and focused on pleasing Antonio, a chef with a sharp tongue and a bad attitude. Nash held only one focus—making things right with Megan. He moved swiftly, looking for her, and eventually found her bent over in the stockroom.
He leaned against the doorframe. “Is this an invitation?”
Some women would gasp in surprise. Some women might blush. Not Megan. She didn’t miss a beat and said, “Touch my ass and kiss your hand goodbye.”
He chuckled at her weak statement. One touch and she would be putty in his hands. Because as much as he loved this game, so did she. The only thing was, she was better at it than he was. He wanted her. All the time. She was there, in his head, every damn minute of the day.
When she grabbed a beer case and turned, she held his gaze. “Can I help you with something?”
The flush of her cheeks gave her away. She still wanted him. He knew that with total certainty. And it kept sucking him in. Because they were so damn good together . . . if only she would allow them to happen. His feelings for her had never been a question in his mind. “I want to apologize that you got caught up in that today. I wish you hadn’t been there. My problem is with your father, not with you.”
Those fiery eyes held his, lips pressing firmly shut.
At that, he lifted his brows. “Ah, total silence. This is the game, now, is it?” He took the beer case from her hands, and she let him, and he settled the box onto the shelf next to him. Intent to make her soft and warm, he placed his hands on either side of her head. Her eyes heated as his other hand came down on her hip, and he gently guided her back until she was pinned between the wall and him. “Tell me to go and I’ll go.”
She looked down and paused for a loaded moment, then finally said, “I’m not ignoring you. I’m choosing not to talk to you. Those are two very different things.” Those fiery eyes finally lifted to his. The fire was tempered with a different emotion now. Hunger. His cock swelled painfully in his Levi’s. He stepped closer, showing her exactly what she did to him. She licked her lips, her pouty mouth begging for his kiss.
“Are you mad about today?” he asked, staring into her beautifully unique eyes.
“No, I’m not mad,” she said.
But she felt something about today. He could see that written all over her face. He’d been trying to get a handle on Megan for the past month. Something had changed in her, though he couldn’t quite figure out exactly what it was. He assumed he’d done something to piss her off. He was good at that. “So, you’re not mad, but you don’t want to talk to me, is that it?” He slid his fingers along the top of her T-shirt, pulling it down a little to press his lips against the sweet spot on her shoulder that made her shiver once. “I’d wager a bet that you might not want to talk, but there is something else you want to do with me, Freckles.” He pressed another kiss on her neck then dragged his mouth up to ear. “You already know I’m all in for exactly what you want.” And Christ, he did want her. Again and again.
And then more.
He trailed his lips from her neck to shoulder, sensing her quivering beneath his mouth. She angled her head and moaned, her hands sliding up his arms as if she couldn’t get enough of him. He couldn’t get enough of her either. He placed his leg between hers and loosened his fingers on her hip when she ground herself against him. All the tension that had built in his chest was suddenly easing and melting away in her presence. He liked that about her. She was strong and fiery. Until he kissed her. Then she was melted butter in his hands.
Needing to remind her how incredible they were together, he slid his hand across her neck until he threaded his fingers into her hair then dropped his mouth on hers. He had one shot. And he wouldn’t waste it. He kissed her roughly, passionately, giving everything he had into that single kiss.
And she kissed him back.
Her moan brushed over him, righting everything in his world. She felt good and warm and he wanted her closer. He sensed her slowly giving him all things he wanted and more . . . until suddenly she broke off the kiss with a loud gasp.
Breathless, she stared at him.
He went still.
In her eyes, he found something new . . . something unsteady. For so many years, they had this game going on. She’d run. He chased her. Even now, he thought that’s all she wanted. The fun of the hunt. But in the dark depths of her eyes, something was wrong. And he knew this had nothing to do with her father earlier.
He took a step back and slid his thumb under her chin, capturing her gaze. “Did you not want me to kiss you?”
She paused. Then, “I wanted that kiss.”
Her voice was soft and tender, and all the things he had never heard from her. He stared into her eyes, trying to understand, a cold wave of concern washing over him. He cupped her face and felt a tug to get even closer. He saw things in her expression. Things that concerned him. “Is this about your dad?’
“Yes. No.” She shook her head. “Sort of.”
Tears suddenly rose in her eyes, and he moved even closer, leaving no room between them. Because suddenly this wasn’t fun and games anymore. And seeing those tears goddamn broke him. “What did your father do to you?” Nash would kill him.
She inhaled sharply, but her tears never fell. There was a lot showing in her expression, leaving Nash spinning. Insecurity, fear, and something gentle that Nash didn’t want anyone getting close to but him.
He locked his arms around her. “Christ, Megan, tell me. What is it?”
“Nash. I . . .” She drew in a long, deep breath before she dropped the ground out from under him. “I’m pregnant. You’re the father.”