Her Billionaire Rancher Boss Read online

  She pushed him back onto his knees, peering up at him from under her lashes as she unzipped his fly. His breathing went all shuddery as she rubbed him through his boxers, intending to torment him as much as he had her.

  She freed his cock once his breathing was ragged enough to please her. Thick and long, it really was a magnificent work of art. Almost as magnificent as the man it was attached to. She brushed her cheek along it, savoring the silken feel of it, the scent of his arousal rising from the curls surrounding it.

  A bead appeared at the tip and she used her thumb to rub it around, gripping the length of him tightly, her fingers just barely meeting.

  Enough teasing. This was torment for her too.

  She took the length of him as deeply as she could within her mouth, too hungry for the taste of him, the fullness of him, to do it slowly. He groaned, his hips jerking slightly, and she sensed his hand hovering at her head.

  She pulled back. “You can hold my head.”

  He sank his hands into her hair, pulling tight and angling her head. “Even like this?”

  It felt wickedly good. She liked his caveman side. “Yes,” she breathed.

  “Tell me if it hurts.”

  “I won’t break.”

  “No, but if I hurt you, I might.”

  She had no time to process how that made her feel because his cock was nudging at her lips, and as soon as she let him, he was plunging deeply, his hand in her hair holding her steady. His other hand drifted along her cheeks and jaw, gently caressing her, and the contrast between that and the rough grip on her hair, his fierce thrusts into her mouth, made her desire rise all over again, her thighs going slippery with it.

  Suddenly he released her, pulling his cock free. He pulled her up to her knees, staring intently at her.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, her heart going a mile a minute. He certainly seemed to be enjoying it if his growly groans were anything to go by. Not to mention the wild movement of his hips.

  “I don’t want to come in your mouth,” he said low and rough. “I want to come inside you.”

  Yes. They should totally do that. She leaned back, pulled him down on her. “There are condoms in my jeans. I learned my lesson the last time.”

  He laughed, then shook his head. “I wanted my first time with you to be in a bed.”

  Now she had to laugh. Poor Benedict and his need to romance her. “You can fuck me in a bed later.”

  His eyes darkened.

  “But if you don’t fuck me right now”—she reached between them and squeezed his erection, making him groan—“I’m going to be really pissed.”

  He didn’t need any more convincing. He went for the condoms, rolled one on, and settled himself between her thighs. His jeans were rough against her skin, his cock smooth and hard as it nudged against her pussy.

  He took his time sinking into her. The expression on his face… it almost hurt to look at him. Instead, she concentrated on the sensation of him filling her, her legs tightening about him, their hips coming to rest against each other. His breath, hot in her ear, the drag of her nipples against the fabric of his shirt. All the physical things between them—and not the emotions written on his face.

  But then he began to move, and as she met him, she couldn’t look away. She was caught in his gaze, in the open adoration there.

  He looked as if he’d been granted his heart’s desire. She certainly couldn’t look away as Benedict turned that expression on her.

  That expression—more than the slick glide of their flesh together, more than the way his pelvis rubbed just right against her clit—sent her sliding to yet another orgasm, all of her clenching around him as he tossed her over the edge.

  He followed right behind, his cock pulsing as he came hard within her, just like he’d wanted to.

  They crumpled into each other, both of them breathing heavily. She savored his weight, ran a hand through his damp hair, licked at the salty sweat on his neck. She slowly noticed he was… not exactly trembling. More like a little earthquake was going off beneath his skin.

  She felt the exact same way.

  “I wish I could ask you to stay,” he said into her hair.

  She stiffened.

  “I won’t though,” he went on. “I just want to enjoy the time I have left with you.”

  Benedict suffers in silence. He wouldn’t ask her to stay, which was probably for the best. Because in this moment, she’d seriously consider saying yes.

  His little gestures toward her—dealing with the tires, ordering her lunch, taking her to church, fixing her sink—they didn’t feel like charity right now. They felt like love.

  In her heart of hearts, she wanted that love. And that scared her because she could lose herself in loving Benedict.

  He rolled off her, tucking her along his side. “Are you cold?”

  “Nope. You make a good blanket.” She ran her hand along his chest. “Are you ready to talk about your visit with Josh?”

  He went rigid, then sighed. “Josh looked harder, leaner than I expected. Prison’s whittled him down.”

  “Mmm.” She tangled her fingers in his chest hair and waited for him to go on.

  “I asked him what he was going to do when he got out. Turns out that Liliana’s already told him he can work in the stockyard, without asking me.”

  “He’ll need a job.”

  “He’d better not fuck it up. He’s had all the chances he’s going to get from me.”

  A chill moved across her skin. He was right to not trust Josh, not until he’d proven himself, but he spoke so coldly about it. “Do you ever regret what you said to him? Before he went to prison?”

  “No.” Flat. Stark. “The alternative would have been to sit back and watch him go to hell.”

  “Some might say he ended up there anyway.” She couldn’t quite say why she was trying to defend Josh, even as weakly as she was, but she wanted Benedict to give just slightly on this. To drop the hard-ass routine—if only for a moment.

  His hand stroked her hair, his expression tight as he pondered that. “I think about it a lot,” he said finally, “what I could have done differently, what might have saved him. And I never come up with a good answer. After this last stunt—that girl with him in the car? She barely survived. I decided I was done trying to catch him. Let him fall and see if that teaches him better. And if not, then nothing will.”

  She pondered that. “I don’t think I’m ready to stop trying to catch Javier.”

  “You’ll have to one day.”

  “He’ll be on his own two feet then. And he won’t be in danger of falling.”

  Benedict could tell her to let Javier go to hell on his own—and he might have slightly selfish reasons for it—but Javier wasn’t Josh. Her brother just needed the right kind of push to fall into the life she wanted for him. And she was going to keep pushing until she found it.

  But they had been talking of Benedict’s brother. “Was Josh at least happy to see you?”

  He snorted. “No. He went on about making amends for what he’d done, which sounded good at first…”

  “But?”

  “But then he said he had to go find Leonora, to make amends to her.”

  Leonora Harper: the girlfriend Josh had almost killed.

  “Does she want to see him?”

  “I don’t know,” Benedict admitted. “I told Josh if she doesn’t want to talk to him then she shouldn’t have to. He can’t force an apology on her.” A deep exhale. “Josh said I could never understand since I’ve never apologized for a goddamn thing in my life.”

  She pressed a kiss to his throat, at the base of it, where it met his chest. His pulse fluttered under her lips.

  He laughed without humor. “The rest of the visit went about the same.”

  “What did your dad and Liliana say?”

  “Liliana didn’t say anything. Just looked kind of shocked. Maybe a little disapproving, I don’t know. But Dad…” His fingers twisted in her hair but di
dn’t hurt her. His voice went low. “Dad said that while I might be handling the company well, I didn’t know how to handle Josh.”

  How that must have hurt him. She could hear the pain now in the fractures in his tone. She pressed a kiss to his chest this time, right above his heart.

  “He’s right,” Benedict admitted. “I don’t know how to handle Josh.”

  That fell like a weight upon them. Perhaps he’d never be able to help Josh. Perhaps she’d never get through to Javier. Perhaps the two of them were doomed to watch their younger brothers slide into self-destruction.

  She couldn’t think of anything that would ease the pain for either of them, so she kept silent.

  He released his grip on her hair, pressed his lips there instead. “Before you,” he said, “I wouldn’t have had anyone to talk this over with.”

  Something tore within her. God, he didn’t have to ask her to stay—not when he confessed things like that. She’d stay just to save him from his self-imposed loneliness.

  And what of her plans for herself?

  For all that Benedict was lonely, he’d chosen this. Chosen to be the strong, silent type, managing everything around him.

  She hadn’t chosen to raise Javier. She was doing her best—which wasn’t great—but she still wanted something for herself.

  Did that make her selfish?

  “Am I wrong to want to leave?”

  His breath arrested in that beautiful chest.

  God, he did think her selfish. He’d never do such a thing. He’d hang on till the bitter end, no matter how Javier pushed him away.

  “No,” he said finally.

  The relief that moved through her was crushing. It was terrible to be so dependent on his good opinion. But she was now. Had always been.

  He lifted himself over her, and the blue of his eyes was the blue of the sea where it met the horizon. Far and melancholy. “I want you to be happy,” he said. “And if leaving makes you happy, you should do it.”

  But what if it would make me happier to stay?

  She didn’t ask, because she didn’t know. And it would be cruel to nurture his hopes like that.

  He’s crazy about you.

  She had no idea what was right or what she wanted in the future. All she knew was that she wanted to hold him close now.

  So she did, pressing her face into the comforting darkness of his chest and simply breathing him in.

  The future could wait.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “You live in the pool house?”

  Pilar hadn’t meant it to come out like that, but Benedict only smiled and squeezed her hand. Which he’d been holding since they’d left the barn, tiptoeing past the main house as they made their way toward his place. She’d never have guessed that he was afraid of his younger siblings, but the roundabout path he’d taken—very much out of sight of the big house—proved that he was. Or at least that he was afraid of meeting them after sexing up Pilar outdoors.

  “I like that it’s smaller,” he said. “Gives me more privacy.”

  “Yeah, I can imagine that having Liliana and Luke around puts a cramp in your style,” she said, nudging him playfully.

  “I’ve never brought a woman here.”

  She gave him the side eye.

  “I’m not a monk,” he protested. “I’d rather go to her place. And then I can leave whenever I want.”

  A bitter taste flooded her mouth. Jealousy? That was silly since he’d just said he never brought women here. And she wasn’t a nun herself. She’d had to be discreet so that Javier wouldn’t notice, but discreet didn’t mean celibate.

  “Don’t worry,” she said with fake lightness, “I won’t overstay my welcome. I’ll just change and get out of your hair.”

  Before she could even blink, he’d spun her around and was kissing her fiercely. “The hell you will,” he growled against her mouth.

  Okay, maybe her jealousy was uncalled for.

  “But I need a shower,” she said, slow and seductive.

  He gave her a wicked smile. “I’ve got a shower here. You can even use mine.”

  She batted her lashes at him. “Oh, the guest bathroom is fine. Does the pool house have a guest bathroom?”

  “It does.” He nipped at her earlobe, sending shivers through her. “But mine is nicer.”

  “Show me.”

  Once she was in his house, she could see all the things that were missing from his austere office. Family portraits, plants, books everywhere. Even some books in Spanish, which surprised her more than it should have. Everything was still organized within an inch of its life—but this was his life. Right here in front of her.

  He stood by the front door, watching her warily as she took it all in. “It’s uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck.

  He hadn’t been kidding about not bringing women back here.

  “Generally in situations like this you say, ‘I’m sorry it’s such a mess.’” She did another survey of the room. “But that won’t work here.”

  Finally he came close to her. “No. How about ‘Come see my bathroom.’”

  “That’ll work.”

  She discovered that nice didn’t even begin to cover his bathroom. There must have been acres of white marble in this bathroom, with a huge shower that had at least five showerheads, all placed at various points along the wall. This shower was the very definition of decadence.

  And the tub! “Are there jets?” she asked incredulously. A person could comfortably swim laps in there.

  All this was just in the pool house. She couldn’t even imagine what the bathrooms in the main house looked like.

  She turned her wide-eyed gaze on him. “This is amazing.”

  He burst out laughing. “Don’t think it came this way. I had the bathroom remodeled when I moved in. I’m a sucker for a nice bathroom.”

  She winked at him. “So am I. And you never answered me: are those jets?”

  “Yep. Want to try it?”

  Of course she did. But…

  She bit her lip, crossed her arms over her chest. If she did this, she knew where it would end: with both of them falling hard. Her most of all.

  She only had to say no and he’d back away. She could leave in three months, heart intact. Or at least mostly intact.

  But God, she wanted to sleep with him. Not just fuck him—sleep with him. Wanted to bury her nose into the crook of his neck, smell the sun-warmed skin, curve close to him under the silk sheets of his too-large bed all night long.

  “Yes,” she said finally. “I do.”

  Everything became weighted then. His movements as he started the water, her gaze as she followed him. His hands as he lifted them to the hem of her shirt and pulled it from her. His breath as he stared at her exposed torso.

  “Pilar.” He made music of her name, of the rolling consonants and stretched vowels. No one else had ever done that.

  “I’m here.”

  He pulled her into his body and kissed her like he was starving, even as his hand worked at the fastening of her bra.

  When he was done, she crossed her arms over her chest. Not out of any shyness, but because it seemed right to prolong the revelation of herself, although he’d seen it all before.

  But it still seemed new.

  He flicked open the button of her jeans, crouched to pull them from her legs. She stepped out, but he stayed where he was, staring up at her, her arms still crossed. Covered by her limbs and a scrap of fabric, yet completely exposed.

  His thumbs hooked into the waistband of her panties, dragging them to the floor. Her hands fell away from her chest—and she was completely uncovered.

  He straightened, and she caught a glimpse of them in the mirror. Him, completely covered, and her, hidden by him, a pale thigh, a bare arm peeping from behind him.

  He caught her by the hand, pulled her toward the tub. She felt like Venus as she stepped in, limbs sliding beneath the water to become blurred and perfect.

  He knelt beside the tub,
switched on the jets. The water churned. She couldn’t help herself—she ducked beneath the surface, the jets gently pummeling her, turning everything around her to bubbles.

  She came up with a laugh, blinking water out of her eyes and spluttering with pure happiness.

  If she had a tub like this, she’d soak in it every day. And twice on Sundays. It was heat and pressure and silken, perfumed luxury… all she needed was a glass of wine and a good book.

  Oh, and a big strappy cowboy naked and wet in here with her.

  She looked him up and down; he was still entirely too clothed. “Aren’t you getting in?”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” he said dryly.

  She flicked water at him. “Of course you were invited.”

  He shucked his clothes and slid in behind her, his thighs hard under hers, his chest solid against her back, and his erection pressing into her ass. His arms slid around her belly, his mouth nuzzling into the skin of her neck.

  She felt sexy, wanted, and cherished. She could really get used to this. Even more frightening, she wanted to get used to this.

  He pulled a washcloth from the stack of towels next to the tub. It was as fluffy as a chenille throw, not ratty and too-much laundered like her washcloths. He swirled it in the tub, the water dancing languorously with his motions, then he soaped it and set it to her shoulders. Down her arm, slow as sin, carefully attending to each finger when he reached her hand. Then back again to her shoulders, across to her other arm to give it the same treatment. Up again, where he hovered at the junction of her neck and shoulder.

  Decision time. He could go down her back, stroking the washcloth to just above her ass, then up again.

  Or his hand could slide forward to scrub her breasts.

  Either way was fine, and she was sure he was going to lavish every inch of her with attention, so she really had no preference—

  He nudged her forward. Her back then. She wasn’t disappointed. Only frustrated.

  “We want to make certain all of you is squeaky clean,” he rumbled into her ear.

  He was tormenting her on purpose. Once she got him into that bed, she’d return the favor.