inside the trailer. The evening hadn’t gone fast enough for Maya. For hours she’d watched him work with the horses, hungry for this very moment.
“You must be exhausted.” She ran her hands over her bare torso, hoping he really wasn’t.
“Not enough to stop me from attacking my wife. C’mere.” He threw his shirt on the floor, and she bit off a groan of annoyance that she’d have to pick it up later. Then he lifted her and pinned her against the side of the trailer, legs locked around him and her neediest spot rubbing the bulge in his jeans.
He took her mouth roughly, kissing and biting like the wild beasts he’d spent the afternoon taming while she helped Mrs. Dalton in the garden.
Maya reached inside his open waistband and pulled his hard shaft free. He shoved into her hand. “Damn condoms.” He tossed her on the bed, giving her a once-over that raised all the hairs on her body. “Don’t move. I like you spread open for me just like that.”
She parted her thighs, inviting a growl from him as he stepped out of the rest of his clothes. When he sank into her, she gave herself up to his every whim. When he flipped her onto her stomach and yanked her hips up to receive him, she realized just how good he made her feel—body and soul.
At that moment, she didn’t care that she’d have to pick up his clothes.
* * *
“See you for second breakfast. Don’t wear any panties.” Cash stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the purple hues of dawn, cowboy hat shading his features.
A shiver began deep inside her at the memory of him walking his fingers up her thigh under the breakfast table. She had gripped his wrist until she feared she’d bruise him, but he’d just given her a wink and toe-curling smile.
As much as she ached at the thought of letting him touch her that way, she couldn’t do it under his family’s roof. She looked around the small trailer then returned her gaze to Cash. “When do you think we’ll have our own home?”
The stiffening of his shoulders wasn’t the answer she’d hoped for. “Soon as we get Hank’s house built. I’m sorry, darlin’.”
She sighed and swung her legs off the sofa bed, ignoring the squeaks they’d lived with for the past week. She was used to living in small quarters—her rental home hadn’t been as large as this trailer. Yet she longed for more privacy. She took a step toward her husband to kiss him goodbye—and tripped over his dirty clothes.
With a cry, she scooped up denim and cotton and hurled everything right at his handsome face. She knocked off his hat, and it disappeared out the open door.
Shock passed over his rugged features. “What the—?”
“I’ve asked you every day for a week to pick up your dirty clothes! Every day I step on them and have to do it for you.” She set her hands on her hips, glaring at her husband.
He stared back, face unreadable. Then he reached behind him and slowly closed the door. She backed up a step, and he came forward, stepping over the clothes she’d thrown.
“I see my wife has a pet peeve.”
“Yes.” Was that her voice? She raised her chin.
“Good thing I’m good at reading women.”
“If you were so good at reading me, you would know I hate picking up after you.”
“Maybe it takes a slap in the face by a pant leg to wake me up.” He was on her, fingers closing around her arms. He jerked her against his hard length and kissed her, swiping his scorching tongue through her mouth and practically singeing her panties off.
He turned her back to the bed and caught the hem of his T-shirt she’d worn to sleep in. In a blink he’d thrown it on the floor too. When his fingers clamped around her hard nipples, she no longer gave a damn. He’d pick them up later. And if he didn’t, she’d throw them at him again.
As they fell together in a clash of teeth and nails and muscle, she couldn’t help but think of how her life had changed drastically. From total fear and hardship to feeling
“You must be exhausted.” She ran her hands over her bare torso, hoping he really wasn’t.
“Not enough to stop me from attacking my wife. C’mere.” He threw his shirt on the floor, and she bit off a groan of annoyance that she’d have to pick it up later. Then he lifted her and pinned her against the side of the trailer, legs locked around him and her neediest spot rubbing the bulge in his jeans.
He took her mouth roughly, kissing and biting like the wild beasts he’d spent the afternoon taming while she helped Mrs. Dalton in the garden.
Maya reached inside his open waistband and pulled his hard shaft free. He shoved into her hand. “Damn condoms.” He tossed her on the bed, giving her a once-over that raised all the hairs on her body. “Don’t move. I like you spread open for me just like that.”
She parted her thighs, inviting a growl from him as he stepped out of the rest of his clothes. When he sank into her, she gave herself up to his every whim. When he flipped her onto her stomach and yanked her hips up to receive him, she realized just how good he made her feel—body and soul.
At that moment, she didn’t care that she’d have to pick up his clothes.
* * *
“See you for second breakfast. Don’t wear any panties.” Cash stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the purple hues of dawn, cowboy hat shading his features.
A shiver began deep inside her at the memory of him walking his fingers up her thigh under the breakfast table. She had gripped his wrist until she feared she’d bruise him, but he’d just given her a wink and toe-curling smile.
As much as she ached at the thought of letting him touch her that way, she couldn’t do it under his family’s roof. She looked around the small trailer then returned her gaze to Cash. “When do you think we’ll have our own home?”
The stiffening of his shoulders wasn’t the answer she’d hoped for. “Soon as we get Hank’s house built. I’m sorry, darlin’.”
She sighed and swung her legs off the sofa bed, ignoring the squeaks they’d lived with for the past week. She was used to living in small quarters—her rental home hadn’t been as large as this trailer. Yet she longed for more privacy. She took a step toward her husband to kiss him goodbye—and tripped over his dirty clothes.
With a cry, she scooped up denim and cotton and hurled everything right at his handsome face. She knocked off his hat, and it disappeared out the open door.
Shock passed over his rugged features. “What the—?”
“I’ve asked you every day for a week to pick up your dirty clothes! Every day I step on them and have to do it for you.” She set her hands on her hips, glaring at her husband.
He stared back, face unreadable. Then he reached behind him and slowly closed the door. She backed up a step, and he came forward, stepping over the clothes she’d thrown.
“I see my wife has a pet peeve.”
“Yes.” Was that her voice? She raised her chin.
“Good thing I’m good at reading women.”
“If you were so good at reading me, you would know I hate picking up after you.”
“Maybe it takes a slap in the face by a pant leg to wake me up.” He was on her, fingers closing around her arms. He jerked her against his hard length and kissed her, swiping his scorching tongue through her mouth and practically singeing her panties off.
He turned her back to the bed and caught the hem of his T-shirt she’d worn to sleep in. In a blink he’d thrown it on the floor too. When his fingers clamped around her hard nipples, she no longer gave a damn. He’d pick them up later. And if he didn’t, she’d throw them at him again.
As they fell together in a clash of teeth and nails and muscle, she couldn’t help but think of how her life had changed drastically. From total fear and hardship to feeling
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