Sarah’s hips came off the bed, a strangled cry erupting from her throat. At the same time, she felt his fingers, knowing, experienced, wicked in their quest to drive her past the edge of sanity, slide deep within her gripping vagina.
She exploded violently. Her cries echoed around the room as she felt the shudders wracking her body. Deep, intense, tightening her muscles, sending her careening into a climax so strong, it left her gasping for breath.
Brock moved over her as the last vibrations tore through her body. Before they could ease, he pushed his cock swift and deep inside the greedy depths of her body. Sarah’s head tossed, her hands gripped his shoulders, her eyes staring in dazed fascination at the man by the bedroom door.
She couldn’t speak. The look in his eyes, so like Brock’s, dark, intense, hungry, ate into her. Her nails bit into Brock’s shoulders, her hips pushing against his in desperation, her eyes locked with those of his brother.
“Brock,” she cried out his name, unable to control the building lust rising inside her. She should be shocked, horrified, not so excited she was nearly demented in the grip of a carnality so wicked, she could do nothing but scream out the climax tearing through her.
Brock’s hips drove her through the violent shudders of release, then his harsh male groan sounded in her ear and she felt the hard, rapid jets of his semen spurting in her. Pulse after pulse as he trembled against her, whispering her name as he shuddered one last time. Sarah watched, barely able to keep her eyes opened, as Sam slipped from the room.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Rick and Tara Glaston weren’t married, as Brock explained the next day. Rick was Tara’s ex-brother-in-law, a tall, muscular ex-Special Forces Commando and part owner of Security Unnamed, a private protection business. Tara was tall, with red hair and green eyes, and a light scattering of freckles across her nose. Rick was taller, with brown hair and hazel eyes. Both were well acquainted with the August family. With them, was Tara’s sister, Heather James. She was a bit shorter than Tara, standing close to five feet four inches rather than her sisters five feet six. She was slender, compact, with her long dark auburn hair falling in a thick braid down her back, her darker green eyes solemn as she watched the group.
Also in attendance to the little meeting was Dillon. A more than furious Dillon who listened to the proceedings with a dark frown. He had shown up early that morning, threatening to kill every August man that breathed if anything happened to his sister. Sarah rolled her eyes. He was acting like an overprotective father rather than a sometimes brother.
“I brought a team with me this time, I have them scattered along security points where the house can be accessed by a weapon.” Rick pointed to several areas on a makeshift map. “We don’t want a repeat of Sam’s little accident.”
Sam and Cade had been shot two years before by a stalker, possibly intent on getting to Cade. Sarah watched the men, listening to the bodyguards, and fought the reality of the situation. She felt too overwhelmed and on the edge of an abyss she was afraid of entering.
Watching Brock, seeing his concern, his determination to protect her, frightened her. He would stand between her and danger and she knew it. The proof lay in his determination to keep her at his side.
“I want everyone to learn from the mistakes made the last time we were here.” Tough, no nonsense Tara spoke up, eyeing each man individually.
“Yeah, remember, we’re cowboys not green berets this time, huh?” Sam rolled his eyes at some private joke.
“Be careful, Sarah, Brock and Cade like to play cowboys and stalkers with madmen.” Marly grimaced. “Cade has the scar to prove it.”
“Hey, I have a scar too.” Sam pouted. How a grown man with features as bold and near savage as his could actually pull it off, was a mystery to Sarah. But he managed.
“Yes, you do, and you were such a big boy about your boo boo.” Heather grinned at him, drawing a round of chuckles from everyone but Sarah.
Sam cast her a bold, sexual look. “Wanna kiss my boo boo again, baby?”
Heather flushed, her eyes narrowing on him with promised retribution.
“That wasn’t your boo boo she had in her mouth, Sam,” Tara reminded him tartly. “If it was, then you’re in some major trouble.”
“Okay, boys and girls. Remember, stay inside or just in the ranch yard, no riding off for midnight rides.” Rick gave Sam a hard look. “And no sneaking out to play cowboys and stalkers.” Brock and Cade were next. “Maybe we can catch the bastard this time.”
“Last shot, Rick.” Cade stood to his feet, all humor wiped from his face. “I want to at least know who it is this time. Get your people on that.”
“We’ve had them on it for two years, Cade,” Rick bit out, his hazel eyes cool, hard. “Our people and a PI firm. There’s no trace of evidence linking anyone.”
“Only one person could be behind it,” Cade told him carefully, flickering a look at Sarah.
“He’s dead, Cade.” Rick shook his head. “I checked that myself. ID was positive. It can’t be him.”
“Then it has to be someone close to him, who knew.” Cade wrapped his arms around Marly instinctively as she moved to his side. “Find out. Concentrate there. It couldn’t be coming from anywhere else.”
Rick sighed roughly, dragging his hands over his short, spiky hair. “I’ll try a few other angles. But I swear, that line is pretty much exhausted.
“Just find the bastard, I don’t care where you have to look.” His voice, harsh and cutting, sliced through the room. “I’m sick of having to lie awake at night worrying about the women in this house. I pay you damned good. Now make your fucking money.”
He stomped out of the dining room, the heels of his boots beating out a harsh rhythm on the hardwood floor.
Marly sighed, looking at everyone apologetically.
“It’s okay, Munchkin, we understand and so does Rick.” Sam leaned back in his chair, sighing with a rough breath. “Give him time, he’ll settle down.”
Marly nodded, then turned and followed Cade. Her petite body, dressed in clinging white silk gave her the appearance of an innocent seductress. She was soft spoken, gentle and too damned sweet for the life Sarah knew she lived. She wondered how the other woman did it and kept from being bitter, cynical.
“Miss Tate, we’ll be checking your ex out as well,” Rick told her, turning to her now. “Make certain he’s not a smoke screen.”
“The sheriff is doing that,” she protested. “He knows what he’s doing.”
“I’m sure he does.” Rick nodded. “But this way, I know it to the bone. It’s best for all of us.”
Sarah shrugged. He could beat a dead horse as long as he wanted to.
“I need to go home soon, get my clothes.” She turned to Brock. “If there are any left.”
“Let one of our employees handle that instead,” Tara requested. “Make a list of anything else you want right now and we’ll have it brought here. We need to keep everyone together for now.”
Sarah pressed her lips together in irritation. She was beginning to feel like a prisoner.
“It won’t last long, baby,” Brock promised her. “Whoever the bastard is, once he starts, he doesn’t take long to show himself.”
“And I want him this time,” Rick said, his voice hard. “Last shot boys, let’s see if we can’t get it right this time.”
* * * * *
Sam slipped from the house as darkness was edging over it. He ignored the edge of nervousness in the pit of his stomach, the anticipation that had his dick throbbing. He was horny, he assured himself. That was all it was. He could handle one little spitfire long enough to find out why the hell she had come back. He moved quickly across the back yard, heading for the small van parked past a cluster of shoulder-high boulders about two hundred feet from the kitchen door. He had waited as long as he could. His curiosity, his lust wouldn’t allow him to delay the confrontation another moment. As he neared it, the side door was pushed open, and Rick came out
of it growling.
“Tara finds out about this and she’ll kick your ass, cowboy,” he snarled. “I’ll watch out here, but you won’t have long.”
Sam grinned, tipped his hat and jumped into the van. The door was slammed shut then locked behind him.
The dim light from the camera monitors at the side of the van spilled a tenuous, soft glow through the darkened interior, enabling him to catch sight of Heather as she watched from the back.
“Rick’s not going to cover for you again, Sam.” Heather was sitting on the small bed at the side of the van, one slender, jean clad leg propped on the thin mattress as she leaned back against the van wall, her grin mocking. “And if I had known ahead of time you were coming, then I wouldn’t either.”
Her slender face, with her small pouty lips fascinated him. The slightly tilted green eyes, and slender arched brows all combined to create a fairy tale image that should have been dressed in gauzy silk, not jeans and a rough cotton blouse.
He wanted to tear her clothes from her body. He wanted to stroke her satin skin. He wanted to rage at her for making him feel again.
“Why the hell didn’t you come back?” He faced her, furious. A year. A damned year and he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her.
She quirked a slender brow mockingly. Sam felt the blood begin to heat in his veins, his cock hardening to the point of pain.
“A blowjob does not a relationship make, cowboy,” she said sarcastically, her gaze flickering to the bulge that had grown beneath his jeans.
He remembered that sweet mouth, so small, so damned tight and hot. He clenched his fists as he stared down at her, fighting his needs.
“If I remember correctly, it was a hell of a lot more than a simple blowjob, sugar,” he bit out not wanting to remember, to ache for her mouth. “I do believe you screamed pretty damned loud while I ate that sweet pussy of yours.”
Hell yes, she remembered. Her nipples beaded instantly. She wasn’t wearing a bra beneath that damned shirt again. Did the woman ever wear a bra?
When he glanced back at her face it was to see the shy flush that stained it. She didn’t back down though. Her eyes met his, the forest green color darkening with her arousal. He remembered exactly what she looked like aroused, needing. His teeth clenched at the memory. He should have stayed away. He should have never come out here to her.
“Are you still a virgin?” He wanted to bite the words back the minute they were out of his mouth.
“Are you still fucking your brother’s lover?” she snarled back, anger brightening her eyes now.
She was a prickly little thing. Quick with her mouth, hot with her passion, and driving him crazy with her female stubbornness. Sam took a deep, hard breath then went to his knees in front of her. He had to touch her. She was temptation and one he didn’t understand, yet couldn’t resist. Her eyes widened, then she blinked when he did nothing more than watch her. He loved watching her. The shift of her expression, the anticipation in her eyes.
“I don’t know how to fuck a virgin,” he whispered, shaking his head, confused by the overwhelming need he had to touch her in gentleness; confused by the tremble in his hands. “And I want to fuck you, Heather. I want to fuck you bad.”
He watched her breasts heave on a hard breath. He clenched his fists in an effort not to touch them. He tamped his grin as she frowned fiercely, the evidence of her fight against her arousal telling in her deepening flush, the rapid rise and fall of her breasts.
“You should really wait on an invitation, big boy. And I don’t remember protesting how rough you became before,” she bit out, but he heard the breathy indication in her voice that the idea intrigued her. Just as she had been intrigued before by the small taste of pleasure/pain he had introduced her to.
And it intrigued him. The memory of her pleasure, her unmasked lust as he pulled that long hair, or erotically nipped at the plump lips of her perfect cunt made him insane with his growing lust for her.
“Invite me, Heather.” He moved closer, unable to deny himself. He was weak, he admitted. Damned weak where this fiery little redhead was concerned.
She bit her lip, her eyelids lowering, her breathing fast and uneven now.
“Do I look like a fool, Sam?” she asked him, though her voice lacked conviction.
“Naw,” he whispered with a grin. Damn, she could lighten his heart when nothing else could. “You look like cinnamon candy, baby. Sweet and hot on my tongue, blowing my mind with your taste. “
She watched him carefully, her lips parted now as she fought for air. He knew just how she felt. He was smothering with his desire for her.
“And you look like trouble.” She trembled though, despite her objection as he pulled her leg from its propped position, then moved closer to her.
“Unbutton your shirt,” he whispered as her hands gripped his wrists.
“What?” Surprise flared in her eyes.
“Do it,” he growled almost wincing at the roughness of his voice. “I want to watch you, Heather. Unbutton your shirt, then spread it apart. Let me see your hard little nipples. Touch them.”
“I’m still a virgin,” she reminded him, her bitterness heard and understood.
Sam winced. His last words to her before she left the year before were to lose her virginity before returning. He wasn’t an easy lover and he was terrified of hurting her. Evidently, she hadn’t heard that part.
“Not for much longer,” he promised her. “Now unbutton that fucking shirt, Heather. Don’t play coy, baby, you knew what would happen when you came back.”
Her nails bit into his wrists, biting into his skin as her tongue ran over her lips nervously.
“I didn’t expect anything, Sam,” she told him, and he was surprised at the honesty he heard in her voice. “There were no promises between us. How could I have expected anything?”
Sam took a deep, rough breath as he watched her. She didn’t try to hide her arousal, didn’t care to let him know he would be first. Even knowing what he was, the life he lived, she wanted him. How much more would she want?
“I won’t be easy. I warned you, Heather.” He fought to keep his voice hard, but he heard the vein of need in it. “Now unbutton that damned blouse before I rip it off your body.”
He was almost shaking with the need to taste those hard little nipples beneath the cloth. To suck them into his mouth, nibble at them; hear her cries of passion as he drove her crazy with his mouth. Then his mouth went dry as her hands went to the buttons. One slid free, parting the material minutely. A moment later, the second came undone. His cock jerked in anticipation.
Her fingers went to the third, was slipping it slowly from its mooring when the van door was suddenly jerked open. Without thought, Sam pushed Heather to the floor in a quick movement, his body bracing for danger as he turned to meet the person stupid enough to interrupt him.
He stopped within a second of a blow to the intruder. Tara Glaston stood watching him, her eyes narrowed, her hands propped on her slender hips, her green eyes glittering with anger.
“Heather, do you have any idea what the hell you’re getting into here?” She bit out.
The soft chuckle behind him surprised him. He turned back to Heather, wondering at the knowing glint in her amusement filled gaze.
“Maybe that’s a question you should be asking him, Tara.” She was sitting back up, re-buttoning her shirt and watching Sam with a knowing glint.
“Get out of here, Sam.” Tara bit out, her anger slowly simmering as she watched him. “I think they need you at the house for something.”
He wanted to argue, but he knew Tara, and knew well she was as mean as a blind rattler.
“This isn’t over, Heather,” he warned her. “Don’t think it is.”
She bit her lip again. Damn her, he wished he could do it for her.
“For now it is, Sam,” she sighed, watching him warily. “Maybe we can talk later.”
“Talk isn’t exactly what I have in mind,” he bit out as he j
umped from the van. “And next time, I’ll make sure Big Sis here is locked out.”
He flashed Tara a hard look before stomping away from the van and the woman slowly driving him to complete madness with his lust for her. His cock throbbed painfully, his veins pounded with the surge of blood. His mind was a mess though, and he knew it. Memories, dark and fragmented, stirred within him as he navigated the dark landscape around the house. Damn her, he cursed. Damn her to hell for making him feel and in turn, for making him remember.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Sarah stared out in the darkness, sitting quietly on the patio, watching the pool ripple beneath the faint light of the moon. The evening’s events played through her mind, the reality of it finally sinking in. A mad man stalked her because she slept with one of the August men. She sighed. The last damned time she decided on a one-night stand. This one seemed never ending.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone.” Sam stood in the shadows of the patio, watching her, the moonlight casting a pale, eerie glow over his face. He looked tortured, tormented, not the easygoing cowboy she had glimpsed before.
“Doesn’t look like I am any longer.” She sat back in the padded chair, her feet propped on an ironwork planter filled with blooming moonflowers. The sweet scent washed over her, adding a breath of sensuality to the air.
Sam moved forward, roughly masculine in jeans and boots, a T-shirt stretched over his broad shoulders and flat stomach.
“You should go back in.” He hunched down by her chair, in front of her, too close for comfort. He looked too much like Brock and the sexual interest in his eyes was much too heavy. “It’s safer inside, Sarah.”
“Maybe, but I doubt it,” she sighed, watching him carefully.
Would it matter where she was, she wondered. The brothers seemed to surround her. Their eyes shadowed, their expressions more relaxed than she had ever seen, yet the marks of the past were still there. The faint lines of bitterness alongside sensual lips, on their broad, sun-darkened foreheads. Worry and pain had scarred them in more ways than one.