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1
JAMISON
I watched as patrons entered and left the Silky Spur. Being line dancing night at the local bar set at the edge of town, the place was hopping. Unlike everyone else headed in with fun in mind, I fought it. No, I fought myself because she was in there. And I was ignoring my dick as it rested down the inside of my thigh, painfully hard and not a chance of going down. If I listened to what that head wanted, I’d be balls deep in her by now. But I didn’t live by what my dick wanted—I wasn’t nineteen anymore—until now. Until her.
I’d seen her go inside with Shamus and Patrick and a few others from the ranch over an hour ago. Yeah, I was stalking her, but she needed someone to watch out for her. To protect her. Compared to some of the women in tiny little shorts that barely covered their ass cheeks and skimpy tops, she was modestly dressed in a jean skirt, cowboy boots and a western shirt.
It didn’t matter if she wore that or a burlap sack. I could envision every inch of her body underneath. A petite, voluptuous package. It only mattered that no one else saw all that perfection. I squeezed the steering wheel, knuckles going white, knowing I’d beat the shit out of any guy who laid a finger on her. Except Boone. I wanted to watch him put his hands all over her.
Fuck. I sat out in the parking lot, doing jack-shit. It had been three days since I first laid eyes on Penelope Vandervelk, the second Steele daughter and heiress to arrive in Montana, and since then, I’d thought of nothing but her. Her long blonde hair. How tiny she was. The top of her head sure as shit didn’t come up to my shoulder. Her blue eyes. And those tits and ass. For someone so petite, she had more curves than a road through the mountains. No doubt those lush mounds would overflow my palms and her hips…they’d be perfect to grip and hold as I fucked her from behind.
I groaned inside the confines of the truck cab. I wanted her with a desperation I’d never known. I’d seen the way Cord Connolly and Riley Townsend had fallen hard and fast for Kady Parks. While I hadn’t laughed at the suddenness, the intensity of their connection, I’d certainly doubted it would ever happen to me. I’d been so fucking wrong. Hell, they’d be laughing at me right now if they knew what I was doing. Again, jack shit with a dick as hard as a steel beam.
I wanted Penelope. My dick—and my heart—would have no one else. I didn’t see other women now. Too tall, too thin, too…whatever. It didn’t matter. They weren’t her.
The worst part? She was twenty-two. Jesus, I was sixteen years older. Sixteen! Enough to know better than to get her all dirty. And what I wanted to do to her would make her filthy. I should leave her the fuck alone. To let her find a boy her own age. Yeah, boy. No kid knew his way around a pussy with any kind of skill. She’d be missing out on what Boone and I could give her, what she deserved. And yet I knew it was wrong. That was why she was in the Silky Spur with Patrick and Shamus. They were still in college, born in the same fucking decade. So were the other ranch hands she was with. They’d invited her to go dancing with them, a group of guys using each other to get closer to her. And yet the thought of one of them touching her—hell, even thinking about getting between those luscious thighs—made me see fucking red.
Boone and I were the ones who would see those pert tits, to suck on her nipples. To taste all that sticky-sweet honey right from the source. To hear her scream our names as she came. As she milked my dick and pulled every drop of cum from my balls.
Fuck, yes. And when she’d drained me dry, I’d watch her take her turn with Boone because one hard dick wouldn’t be enough for her. Come morning, she’d not be able to walk properly and she wouldn’t remember her own name.
And that was why I was here. I’d held off enough. My dick said go get her. My mind said hands off. Until now. I should have been given a fucking medal for holding off as long as I had. Three days was fucking torture. No more. The very thought of her dancing and wiggling that perfect ass in front of other men toppled the last of my resolve. I’d been waiting for The One to come along. Thirty-eight years. This wasn’t a one-night stand. This wasn’t an itch that needed to be scratched. No. This was the real deal.
I wanted Penelope—forever—and I was going to have her.
Decision made, I grabbed my cell, called Boone.
“I give up.”
That was all I said, but he knew exactly what I meant. “’Bout fucking time you got your head out of your ass. My dick is sick and tired of my fist.”
It seemed she’d filled both of our fantasies for the past few days. While Boone had blown his load to thoughts of Penelope, I’d held off. I wanted to save up every drop of my cum for her and my balls ached in protest. My fist wasn’t going to do any longer. One look at her and I wanted to come with that tight cunt wrapped hot and wet around me. Forever.
Boone had been at the ranch when she’d first arrived, when she’d climbed from her little hatchback loaded with her stuff. Sweet, young, innocent. Fucking gorgeous. He’d given me the look and I’d known he’d thought the same as me. She was the one. She was going to be ours. Since I hadn’t been ready, had fought like fuck to keep my distance beyond basic introductions, he’d held off approaching her for more. We’d do it together because she would belong to both of us. We’d take her, claim her, fuck her, love her. Together.
Obviously, he’d known I would eventually give in to the blonde-haired temptation. I hated his deep well of patience. I’d hated it ever since we were little kids, the fucker. I didn’t go off on a hair trigger, but compared to B
oone, I was rash and spontaneous. That’s why he made a damn fine doctor. But his words proved he wasn’t nearly as laid back about her as I’d thought.
“Come to the Silky Spur,” I barked, opening the door to my truck and climbing out. “It’s time to claim our girl.”
2
PENNY
I had no idea line dancing could be so much fun. I couldn’t help the grin on my face or how I felt…good. Now I knew why people said to kick up their heels and have some fun. Fun I’d been missing out on as I’d been head down for months in research and writing my Master’s thesis and the outline for my dissertation. Oh, it had paid off; I’d even been emailed an offer to work at an oil and gas company. A few smaller firms had made offers as well, but the international firm was really interested and serious about their offer. But, all the work and the dull—yet highly lucrative—job opportunities only confirmed what I already knew. I didn’t want to work in oil and gas. I wasn’t living my life.
Of course, I’d never been given much of an opportunity to just have fun. My parents—my mother and the man who I’d thought was my father—would have dropped dead if they were seen in a country-western bar. I laughed as I moved my feet in time with the upbeat tempo of the song, learning the steps by following those in the row in front of me. I fumbled, but I didn’t care. No one was taking notice of my mistakes, pointing them out and shaming me. No one knew who I was. More importantly, no one knew who my parents were. Thank god.
Everyone stomped and clapped, swayed and turned together. The smoky air was a little steamy from the crowd. Shamus caught my eye as I spun about and gave me a wink and an easy smile. I couldn’t help but grin back and wave, then be a beat late in the heel stomp that came next. When the song came to an end, everyone clapped and hollered, some even whistled in that earsplitting way that my parents’ housekeeper would use to call in the dogs. I’d never learned the skill, although my mother found the action crass and said that was one of the reasons Mrs. Beauford would never rise above her station.
God, my mother.
Why did I always think of her, of the family, all…the…time? I wasn’t at school, nor on my research/work trip in Iceland. I was in Montana and out from under their oppressive thumbs, completely at my mother’s disappointment. There was no way they’d come here, even if it were to drag me out of the bar.
No. I was safe from them. Safe wasn’t exactly the right word. They weren’t dangerous. They would never hurt me physically. Emotionally? Yeah, I had some pretty good scars. The only thing I was in danger of with the Vandervelks was losing myself. And Aiden Steele, bless his dead heart, he’d saved me. I wished he was alive so I could thank him, hug and kiss him with an overt and shameful display of public affection. I now knew why I’d never fit in with my family. I took after my father, a father I’d never known existed until two weeks ago. It explained so much, even why I possibly liked line dancing. Had he liked it? If he’d worked his way across the country making five illegitimate daughters, then I had to think he’d at least given line dancing a try.
I just had to wonder how a guy like that would have been allowed in my mother’s bed for one night. I wiped my brow and licked my parched lips as I worked my way back to the others, trying to wipe the image of my mother having sex with anyone from my mind.
“Having fun?” Patrick asked. He was at a high-top table, his forearms resting on it as he waited for my answer.
