Her Billionaire Rancher Boss Read online

  He rubbed slow circles on her back, then the washcloth slipped around her waist to travel up her belly. He slid it between her breasts, lifting one with his free hand.

  He found her nipple, the washcloth ignored as he kneaded and teased until she was panting, her hips lifting, twisting, with her wishing his hips were there to anchor hers.

  “Slow, baby, slow,” he said. “I want to savor this.”

  Torment her was more like it.

  He released her breasts, tapped her leg. She lifted it out of the water, and he swiped from her thighs all the way to her toes. His arms were so long he hardly even had to strain. He could enclose her entirely in his body like this, every inch of her protected by him.

  He did the other leg, then paused.

  “Haven’t you forgotten a spot?” she reminded him.

  “Have I?” He found the line of tendon running from her shoulder to her neck and took it in his teeth, just hard enough to make all of her clench. “Whoops.”

  His hand without the washcloth slipped between her legs. It trailed along her inner thigh and stopped right before he reached her pussy lips.

  “Here?” he asked. “Did I forget to wash here?”

  She shook her head. “Higher.”

  His fingers moved not even an eighth of an inch. “Here?”

  She lifted her hips, forcing his fingers where she wanted them. “There.”

  He released a deep breath. He traced her folds, learning them as carefully as he’d learned the rest of her. His thumb found her clit and pressed, sensation bursting from that spot to bathe all of her in pleasure. He slid one thick finger inside her, then another—stretched her deliciously, all the while circling her clit. She pulsed with his every touch, every bit of her straining toward her climax. He pulled his fingers into a come-hither motion, hitting a spot deep within—and she came in a great guttering rush, a knot tightening then coming completely untied with her release.

  Different than the releases he’d given her earlier with his mouth and his cock. But just as good.

  Oh yes, she could definitely get used to this.

  “Your turn,” she told him and wriggled about so that she was astride him. His erection nudged insistently at her sex, as eager as she was to get on with the next bit.

  But the man himself held back. “Let’s move to the bed,” he suggested. “I kind of… I’ve imagined you in that bed. A lot.”

  He bit his lower lip, looking so damn adorable her heart might crack right in two. She couldn’t say no to that face.

  “Let’s go to the bed then.”

  He rose, water sluicing from his length, tucked his arms behind her back and knees and straight up just lifted her.

  “Whoa!” She set a hand to his shoulder. “I’m too—”

  He stopped her with a kiss. “Don’t you dare say too heavy.”

  She supposed she wasn’t—not for him at least. “Okay.”

  He set her down long enough to pull a robe around himself and wrap a towel around her, then he was lifting her again and heading for the bedroom.

  He tossed her onto the bed, and she bounced as she hit, the first time she’d bounced on a bed since she was a kid. She couldn’t help but giggle.

  The bed was soft as a cloud, the duvet silky—decadence. Pure decadence.

  She had only a moment to appreciate it before he was over her, kissing her so deeply, so hungrily. He shrugged out of his robe as she wriggled out of the towel, the two of them trying never to break their kiss.

  They mostly succeeded.

  He braced himself above her, his shoulders broad, the tension in the muscles of his arms delightful to see. He’d lifted her as if she weighed nothing with those arms. She ran her hands over them—so taut, the muscles bulging.

  “Impressed?” he rumbled.

  “Did you do all those biceps curls just for me?”

  He laughed, then gave her a swift kiss on the corner of her mouth. “Yep. Thought of you through every rep.” His expression went serious. “Thought of you a lot.” He reached between them, finding her clit again. “Thought of you like this, naked on my bed, me rubbing you just like this.”

  She panted as the pleasure built, quicker than ever before. The man was frighteningly good at giving her orgasms. “You have a very good imagination,” she got out.

  “This is better than imaginings.”

  She caught at his hand. “No. I want you inside me. Now.”

  She wanted him with her in this, not on the outside, looking at her worshipfully.

  He stared at her for a moment, the weight of it almost too much to bear. Then he was reaching for a condom, sliding it on—and he was with her. Fully. Completely.

  “God, you’re big,” she moaned. Of course she knew that—he’d been inside her not more than an hour ago—but somehow she had to tell him that.

  He halted, those impressive arms holding him over her. “Am I hurting you?”

  So caring, so conscientious it almost made her ache. “No, it’s great,” she assured him. “It’s awesome.”

  It would be even better when he started moving.

  He withdrew, then thrust forward, grinding her against his pubic bone as he did.

  “Jesus,” she hissed.

  He did it again and again, his face a study in determined concentration, his every thrust a buzzer shock to her clit. Her toes curled, all of her tensing under the onslaught. She could not possibly be coming again, but she was, pleasure shuddering through her in great, shaking waves.

  When she could finally think again—could see again—he was paused above her, watching her.

  And still hard as a rock, nestled tightly within her.

  “Aren’t you… aren’t you finished?” she asked. Did he do that tantric yoga? How could he not have climaxed with her?

  “No,” he gritted, the lines of his neck taut and stark. Without warning, he withdrew and flipped her to her stomach, raising her hips into the air and exposing her sex to him.

  “Grab the headboard,” he ordered.

  Her fingers curled around the slats, obeying him before her mind had even begun to consider it. She pressed her cheek against the pillow, rubbed her breasts against the sheets, and raised her ass high, sensing that he wanted her just like this.

  He ran a hand along her back, a connoisseur appreciating a particularly lovely bit of sculpture. His fingers slid across the globes of her ass, sinking into the flesh there for one delicious moment. Then his knees were between hers, nudging her thighs apart. Opening her for him.

  His cock teased at her pussy, his hair-roughened thighs brushing against hers. Her hands tightened on the headboard.

  “So beautiful,” he whispered. “I’ve wanted to fuck you over my desk for… for forever.”

  All of her pulsed, and she rubbed her nipples against the sheets, needing that friction.

  “It’s all I’ve thought about for years,” he continued. “You in those sexy, teasing clothes of yours. Your pouty lips. I’d shove your skirt up to your waist, tear off your panties, and fuck you until you screamed.”

  She felt close to screaming just from his description. His fingers dug into her hips, and he thrust forward, his cock stretching her until almost the breaking point. It was so carnal she had to moan.

  “Do you feel this?” he demanded as he thrust again. “It’s all for you.” He fisted his hand in her hair, like before, but without hurting. Just holding her oh so tightly.

  She was in the most submissive position she could imagine, but she felt only worshipped. Adored.

  “This cock”—another hard thrust, one she had to push back against lest she slam into the headboard—“this”—his hand left her hair, pinched her nipple, all of her clenching at the pressure—“it’s all for you.”

  He leaned into her ear, his thrusts growing faster, wilder, even as his hand slid down her belly. “I can give you more,” he promised darkly. His fingers slid through her curls and found her clit, pleasure sparking through her brain. “I can g
ive you everything.”

  They came together then, her clenching around him as his cock jerked within her, both of them shaking with their release, the bone-melting satisfaction of it.

  They slumped together onto the bed, his weight heavy and reassuring. And right. He breathed harshly into her ear, and she savored the sensation, his weight and breath and skin surrounding her on one side while the silken softness of his bed supported her on the other.

  She wanted to do this again. Wanted to do it every night and every morning.

  Sadness curled within her, as light as a thread of smoke and just as acrid.

  She could. She could turn to him and tell him what was in her heart. If he felt the same—and she suspected he did—he’d do the romantic thing.

  He’d ask her to marry him.

  She could go from being his housekeeper’s daughter to recipient of his family’s scholarship and his charity secretary, all the way on up to being his wife.

  Would it be so bad, standing by this man’s side for a lifetime?

  “What are you thinking about?” he murmured into her ear.

  No, it would be no hardship to stay with a man who treated her as he did. Who read her as well as he did.

  “Nothing,” she said. “You finally wore me out.”

  Humor was always her shield against him, but this wasn’t the time to ponder all of her feelings for him and her desires for her future. Nothing needed to be decided at this moment.

  He took care of the condom, then came back to tuck her against him, pulling the sheet over the both of them.

  “Wait,” she said. There was one last thing she wanted to do. “Roll onto your back.”

  He did as she asked, watching her intently. She laid her hand over his eyes. She couldn’t do this if he were staring at her like that. “Eyes closed, please,” she asked primly, feeling his lashes flutter against her palm.

  When she lifted her hand, his eyes stayed shut, although a smile teased at the corner of his mouth. She pulled the sheet completely free of his body, now laid out for her, just as she’d wanted.

  She started at his feet, long boned with high arches. Sturdy feet to carry a man through all his days without faltering. His toes ever so subtly curled and uncurled, as if squirming under her scrutiny.

  She ran her hands along his calves heavy with muscle and found the bare patches where his boots rubbed. A tiny thing, but hers now, since she’d found them and claimed them, just as he’d claimed that corner of her mouth as his.

  Up now to his knees, knobby and not particularly attractive. But they were part of him, which made them dear to her. And on to the thick muscles girding his thighs, the kind that left deep dents along the side of his legs as he flexed. A lovely divot there for her to run her fingers over.

  And then the center of him, his cock lying quiet and soft, his sac heavy, nestled in the hair that was perfumed with their lovemaking.

  Her fingers went tip tip tip along the ridges of his abdomen, which she suspected he was flexing for her. She ran her fingertips up and down, appreciating the show.

  He let out a small laugh when she hit a sensitive spot.

  Ticklish, hmm? She’d have to test that again later.

  She slid both hands up his chest, her fingers catching in the hair there. Then along his shoulders, so broad, so strong, and down his arms. Until she found his fingers and linked her own with them tightly.

  “You can open your eyes,” she whispered.

  When he did, they were the blue of dawn, lit with promise. He squeezed her hands, still joined with his. “Stay with me tonight.”

  As if she could do anything but. She’d meant to take out these feelings for him later, to come to a decision slowly, rationally.

  But then she’d run her hands over every inch of him and found herself already decided.

  “Of course I will.”

  He pulled her down to him, tucking her alongside him before drawing the sheet up. “Good,” he said. “I want to wake next to you.”

  She wanted nothing more than that herself. Although it was still light out, she found herself suddenly exhausted.

  She yawned widely as his arm tightened around her. Her eyes wouldn’t stay open another moment, not if her life depended on it.

  And with his arm around her, the both of them limp and satisfied, she fell asleep.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Something smelled wonderful.

  Pilar breathed deeply, still three-quarters asleep. But that scent—warm and sleepy and male—it compelled her to wake. It curled in her nose, tugged her toward awareness. She snuggled closer, her nose and lips meeting hot skin. She pushed the tip of tongue past her lips, stealing a taste of that skin. Salt and musk. Yum.

  She shifted. Or tried to. She was pinned between his heavy thighs, his arm anchoring her waist. That was almost as nice as his scent surrounding her. She could get used to waking up with him as a blanket.

  She opened one eye. It was dark out, not even a hint of morning light. She had a few more hours with him then, before she’d have to head home to shower and dress and appear to be nothing more than his secretary.

  And after five p.m. what would happen?

  Things had shifted between them today. Or yesterday. Whenever it was. He might claim that everything would be as before at work, but there would be at least a frisson between them, a new awareness of the other.

  Leaving was infinitely more complicated, especially since she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to.

  Briiiing.

  The ring of her phone had her coming completely awake, shoving aside her introspective mood. No one called at this hour for anything good.

  She pushed Benedict’s arm away, wriggled out from beneath his leg. He made a noise of protest, but she ignored it.

  Her phone. Where was her phone?

  Briiing.

  She searched the floor beside her, watching intently for the glow of the screen.

  If it was in her purse… She went to turn to find it, to search there—no, there the phone was. Just under her shirt.

  She scrabbled for it, praying she wasn’t too late, that she could answer in time.

  Eleven thirty-two, the display read.

  Definitely bad news.

  She hit Answer and brought the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

  There was silence on the other end. Probably only half a second’s worth, but just long enough for her to be aware of Benedict sitting up behind her. Of him coming close to her.

  Long enough for her to get really, really worried at what she was about to hear.

  “Hello. Is this Pilar Lopez?”

  Shit. The woman sounded very official.

  Don’t be the hospital. Or the coroner.

  Speak. She had to speak. “Yes, that’s me.” Amazing, how steady her voice sounded.

  “Are you Javier Lopez’s sister?”

  Fuck. That was the last thing she wanted to hear.

  She dropped her face into her free hand. Benedict clasped her shoulder, kneading gently.

  “Yes. I am.” The steadiness was leaking out of her voice.

  “I’m Officer Tait from the sheriff’s office.”

  Pilar’s heart felt as if it were sloshing about in her chest. Don’t let it be that bad, don’t let it be that bad—

  “I’m calling because your brother was arrested for shoplifting.”

  Having Benedict take her to the station was maybe a bad idea. But he’d insisted and she’d been grateful for it. At first.

  As they neared the station, his calm support had hardened into something brittle. He was tense, stiff, the lines of his expression set into something vaguely frightening. As if he was furious and trying to hold it in.

  But Benedict drove as calmly, as capably as ever. Thank God.

  The night seemed too dark with no moon, no streetlights, and only the headlights of the truck to mark their way. And Benedict, so silent beside her, his tension a physical thing filling the cab of the truck, combining with her
own anxiety to make the atmosphere thick, toxic.

  When they’d pulled into the station and the truck was parked and off, she turned to him. “You can stay here.”

  What she meant was he should stay there. She couldn’t carry his tension and her own. He meant well of course, but she could handle this by herself. After all, she’d been solely responsible for Javier for five years now.

  “I can’t let you go alone,” he said, his words heavier than they should have been.

  She wondered why she’d even tried. Of course he would come.

  “Okay.” She grabbed for the door handle.

  “Wait. I’ll open it.”

  The time it took him to come around to her door was interminable. She had nothing to do but wait and think on Javier’s situation. And worry—which she’d already been doing on the drive over. She wanted to act, to grab the door, to march into the station and figure out what was wrong.

  She waited for Benedict instead.

  They walked to the door in silence, the air cold with spring chill, and as he opened it for her, the awful realization hit her.

  Benedict Merrill was escorting her to the sheriff’s office in the dead of night so she could bail out her brother.

  The gossip was going to be worse than she’d ever endured. Maybe even worse than he’d ever endured. There was no quiet or discreet after this. Not that there might have been after their time together today—but there was really no going back after this.

  She snuck a glance up at him as he held open the door, his arm as hard as an iron bar. But he wouldn’t look at her. His face was tight, his expression closed.

  If he was regretting coming with her—regretting starting an affair with her—it was too late now.

  She walked through the door, going for the front desk where a middle-aged man in uniform sat.

  “I’m here to…”

  She faltered, the right word not coming to her lips. See my brother? Bail out my brother? Rescue my brother?

  “I was told my brother is here,” she finished. “Javier Lopez.”

  The officer typed something into the computer, his movements easy. No doubt this was just another Sunday night on duty for him.