Burned by a Kiss Page 8

  It was urgent, no holds barred.

  Holy shit, she was trying to tell him she wanted him to make love to her. At least that’s what he thought she was trying to tell him, but a man never knew—

  “I can feel you over-thinking again.”

  “I am.” He groaned as she pressed closer. All he wanted to do was grab her up and take her. He was harder than he’d ever been, aching to possess her.

  She slid a hand up his chest. “Make love to me, Santana.”

  He heard wind rushing past him. “Are you sure?”

  She looked up at him, raised a brow. “Are you afraid this is becoming a thing? That all the rumors in Star Canyon won’t be rumors anymore?”

  He didn’t—couldn’t—think about anything but her. He stripped off her top even as she was working on his, her fingers furiously undoing buttons as they kissed. God, he could kiss her all night—but then her fingers slid down his back and reached for his zipper, and he thought God, I could do this all night, too.

  The bra went somewhere and all he could do was stare. “You’re beautiful,” he said reverently, but she didn’t allow him any time to process how beautiful she was because her hands were in his briefs, and he was harder than he’d ever been in his life. “Bed? Table? Chair?” he gasped out.

  “Bed so we don’t scandalize the pets,” she said, and he knew she was teasing him, but he didn’t care. He swept her into his arms, striding down the hall with her, as she giggled against his chest.

  He bounced onto the bed with her, and Emma squealed, laughing. She tugged off his jeans, made short work of his briefs, and then there was nothing between them but the tiniest piece of pink string he’d ever seen. “I’m going to have a coronary right here.”

  “Santana—”

  “No, no. No over-thinking. Hang on, gorgeous, just give me one second to process this much beauty.”

  She lay back against the pillows, the slight chill in the room puckering her nipples and goose-pimpling her skin. Her body was one smooth ribbon of feminine beauty, accented by the pink excuse for a panty.

  Then her hand closed around his erection, and Santana nearly blacked out from the sudden heat swamping him. He took her hands in his, placing her arms above her head so she couldn’t torture him. He claimed her mouth, loving hearing her gasp underneath him. Kissed her long and thoroughly until she writhed beneath him.

  But the breasts, ah, he had to taste them. He kissed her there, taking the nipple of each round globe into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue.

  “Santana,” she murmured, and he released her hands so he could tease her nipples as he kissed down her belly. Her stomach was so flat and smooth, the skin so soft.

  The thong provided no resistance at all, and he teased her, tasting her, groaning when she cried out his name again. To his surprise, she climaxed quickly—too quickly.

  “Santana!” She pulled at his hair, his shoulders, anything to get him closer to her, inside her. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted more.

  “Shhh, baby girl,” he told her, taking her in his arms. “Let me please you.”

  He kissed her, stroking between her legs with his fingers, teasing her clit, her wetness driving him mad. It was all he could do to hold himself back from getting inside her. He teased her nipples, circled her bud as he felt her body tightening against his—and when she begged him to make her come, he slipped inside her, bringing a cry of pleasure from her that could have been heard in the next county and nearly making him explode right then.

  He made a superhuman effort, squeezing his eyes shut, wanting it to last forever. Draw out her pleasure.

  “Oh, God, Santana,” she whispered against his mouth, riding against him hard. She was tight, so tight, so ready for him. Her body was made for his. And the fact that she wanted him so urgently was blinding hot, robbing him of speech and anything but the need to keep plunging inside her. Her hands pulled at him, pressing him closer to her—but when she wrapped her legs around his waist, dragging him deep inside her and imprisoning him in the softness of her body, Santana broke with a cry, coming hard, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it might rip right out of him.

  He collapsed, and she held him, and just for a moment, Santana felt lost. His heart was still racing, but Emma’s arms were around him, centering him.

  He didn’t know what to say. Jesus, what did a guy say after a mind-bending experience like that? Thank you? I think I just saw the thrones of Heaven? Give me twenty minutes and let me do it again, I swear I can do better than two orgasms for my lady?

  “Are you all right?” Emma asked, and he smiled when she giggled.

  “I’m fine. But I think the dogs are worried.”

  The sound of snuffling noses under the door crack made both of them laugh. “They think I’m hurting you.”

  “They think something,” Emma said, rising to kiss him, “but you definitely didn’t hurt me.”

  “Good,” he said gruffly. He wasn’t sure exactly what had just happened—or how it had happened.

  She’d asked him to make love to her. Just like the last time, which he’d feared might never happen again. He’d had a miracle visited on him, after all these years.

  “Emma, marry me,” he said, shocking himself.

  She tossed a pillow at him. “Let’s go walk the dogs. Then I need to go to bed.” Her tone was uncomfortable, suddenly awkward.

  He wanted to say let’s skip the walk and stay in bed, but selfish bastards never won fair ladies, so he pulled on his jeans. “I’ll walk them. And then I’ll let you get some sleep.”

  “I had surgeries today, and one farm emergency in the morning, so I guess I’m a little tired.” He handed her the bra that had somehow gotten caught in his jeans. She handed him his briefs which had landed on the bedside table. “Santana, I know what this is. Don’t worry. No proposal is necessary. That’s not what I’m looking for.”

  He pulled on his jeans. “Okay.” What was she looking for? “What was it?”

  “This?” She smiled. “It was wonderful.”

  Was she telling him not to over-think this, either? How could he not? “Maybe I want to over-think it.”

  Snouts nosed at the crack of the door and the hardwood floor. Emma shrugged into her bra, and he watched, fascinated. “You have beautiful breasts. Did I tell you that? Because the whole time I was making love to you, I thought I was telling you how beautiful you are. Every curve of you, every inch of you, is so beautiful that I swear it nearly stopped my heart.”

  She stopped dressing, looked at him. “Thank you.”

  He wanted her again, already. The snouts weren’t to be denied, though—and he felt hesitation from Emma. Maybe even some distance.

  He wanted to break through that resistance, that wall she’d constructed, with all his might. But he didn’t know why it was suddenly there.

  What if this was it? What if she never let him make love to her again? What if he never got inside that soft, welcoming body, heard her cry his name over and over?

  Oh, holy, holy shit. It was because he’d blurted out that proposal. He’d scared her. He hadn’t been able to help it. His mouth had only said what his subconscious was thinking. Once you’d seen the promised land, it wasn’t like you’d keep looking for a better promised land.

  “I’ll walk the dogs,” he said, opening the door, and the two shepherd puppies and Joe raced in, swirling tails and anxious faces looking for Emma. She patted them, and they engulfed her, delighted now that they had her full attention.

  And damn their furry hides, he knew exactly how they felt.

  Chapter Eight

  “It was dumb,” Nick said, “I know it was dumb. But when I found your sister hauling stuff out of the storage barn at night, piece by piece, and putting it in her truck to haul away, I had to do something. I know the trust said that everything except strictly personal items like clothes were to be left as part of the ranch estate.” He sighed deeply. “Look, she thought she was stealing from me, and the stuff ob
viously meant a hell of a lot to her, so I told her to take it. She’s a pack rat, I guess.” He shrugged. “What was I supposed to do with it, anyway? And then, I thought about it, and I wanted to help her. Somehow. So I offered to finance her business.”

  Santana told himself to listen and not throw a punch. He sat on a hay bale and waited for more of the story.

  “Okay, I’m not saying loaning your sister money—”

  “She calls it a bet.”

  Nick looked embarrassed. “Maybe it is a bet. The terms are technical and not necessarily legal.”

  “Did you sign papers? If you signed paperwork, it’s legal, and my sister is tied to losing money to you.” There was a great chance he wasn’t going to be able to work for Nick without doing the man bodily harm. “Who the hell gets involved in a venture with a twenty-two-year-old girl who has no college degree and little life experience outside of this town? My sister isn’t a world traveler like you, Nick. She’s not a heavy hitter in the world of finance.” The whole thing felt so slimy. “And now I know that you’re cast from the same mold as your old man.”

  Nick sat on a bale across from him. “Santana, your sister isn’t the little girl you think she is.”

  “Watch it, or your tongue will find itself out of your mouth.”

  Nick scowled. “Would you quit giving me shit? For your information, while I may not be a Navy SEAL, I’m pretty confident I can take you.”

  Santana was so surprised he laughed out loud. He shook his head at his wiry, suit-wearing cousin. Nick had been on his way out to catch a flight—-private jet, of course—when Santana had waylaid him, determined to beat his hide blue for taking advantage of Sierra. “I don’t think so. You could try, but it wouldn’t end well.”

  Nick shook his head. “I don’t want to fight with you. Look, drive me to the airport. I’ll explain it to you.”

  “You’re the boss-man.” He meant to sound dismissive, but Nick’s attention was on his cell phone.

  “Thanks. If you drive, I can get some of these calls out of the way.”

  “I’m not a flunky. I’m not a driver, either, or a taxi service. I’m a hand.”

  “I know, sorry. Anyway, you want to hear about your sister and her escapades, give me a ride. Otherwise, this chapter will have to wait until next week.”

  “Would your highness like me to pack a cooler of water bottles and your favorite adult beverage?”

  “Thanks.” Nick had already turned toward the Range Rover. Santana told himself that his cousin wasn’t a man on whom sarcasm worked well, and grabbed a couple of water bottles out of the barn fridge. Nick tossed him the keys. “Where is Sierra, anyway?”

  “At home with Joe. I think they’re looking through some wedding books, last I checked.” Disgruntled, Santana got into the driver’s seat. “I’m not wearing a cap, I’m not carrying your luggage, and I’m not doing anything except driving you to the airport.”

  Nick glanced up, strapping himself into the seat belt as he looked at Santana. “A driver’s uniform would look good on you. I always think it’s good to play the part, don’t you?”

  Santana was about to bean him, until he saw Nick’s eyes twinkling. “You’re a laugh a minute. Where to?”

  “DFW. I’m heading out to London for a couple of days.”

  That would give him a nice distance to pick apart the lies Nick was probably about to tell as a cover story. He drove through the center of Star Canyon, astounded when he saw Sierra and Emma dragging a mannequin from a truck bed. The girls hoisted it up, carrying it down the street toward Sierra’s shop like it was some kind of trophy. “Just a second.”

  “No problem.” Nick eyed the women. “Glad to see Sierra is taking this bet seriously.”

  “You shut up until I get all the information out of you I want. I’m not happy with you at all.” Mannequins weren’t cheap, and Sierra was pouring money into a losing venture. He pulled in front of the store and got out. “What are you doing?”

  “Carrying our sacrifice to the moon goddess. What does it look like?” Sierra demanded.

  “Let me.” He took the mannequin from them, holding it in one arm. “Open the door.”

  “What are you doing with him?” Sierra asked.

  “What are you doing with her?” Santana asked Emma. “Why aren’t you at the clinic?”

  “It’s my lunch break.”

  “My sister is getting you involved in a questionable scheme.”

  “I don’t do questionable schemes,” Nick said, coming inside the empty shop. “Why is it questionable? Isn’t Sierra reliable?”

  “Does she look reliable?” He pointed to the eyebrow ring, the tat, and the wild hair.

  Sierra smacked his finger away. “Quit being a douche! You’ve had a serious crimp in your brain for days, Santana.”

  He looked at Emma, who shrugged, her smile sympathetic. She thought he had a crimp, too—and he did, all thanks to her. It was like she was sucking everything out of his brain that was cold hearted and mechanical, and he missed the old Santana. The old Santana had lived on instinct and razor-sharp focus. The old Santana would never have blurted out a proposal. Why had he messed up what had been turning into the only beautiful thing currently in his life?

  “I thought you were going to kick Nick’s ass,” Emma said. “That’s what you said yesterday when you left the table.”

  Nick looked interested in this. “I told him I could take him. He decided to be a lover and not a fighter.”

  They all laughed at the disgust written on Santana’s face. “I reserve the right to harm you after I hear your story.”

  Sierra ushered both men to the door. “You’re bothering me and Emma. I only have her during her lunch hour. So you boys are going to have to go play forts and battle stations elsewhere.”

  “Come with us,” Nick said.

  Sierra stopped. “Why?”

  “To protect me from your brother?”

  Sierra wouldn’t fall for that line, would she? Santana watched this exchange with interest, fraternal protection rising inside him.

  “You’re a land shark. You don’t need protection.” Sierra grabbed her coat. “But I’ll go. You probably shouldn’t be alone together. No telling what romance might spring up.”

  “Join us,” Santana said to Emma. “I need protection from my boss and my sister.”

  “Yeah, come along,” Nick said. “I’ll spring for lunch somewhere.”

  “I thought we were going to be late to the airport. You have a flight to catch to London,” Santana said.

  “I do, but my pilot just moved the flight plan back. So I have about forty-five minutes to kill.”

  “I probably could,” Emma said. “I don’t have any more appointments this afternoon.”

  Sierra clapped her hands. “There’s a place in Lightning Canyon that’s having an estate sale, and I heard—from Mary, who is quite reliable—that there’s a vintage wedding dress there that would be perfect for my collection! Let’s stop in and look at it. It’ll be an adventure!”

  Santana looked at Nick. “It’s your popsicle stand she’s running.”

  “We’ll stop,” Nick said after a moment. “It can’t take more than a minute to see an old dress.”

  “Old dress? You mean vintage. There’s a difference.” Sierra locked up the shop and elbowed Nick as they walked toward his car. “Semantics are important, right? Otherwise you’d be a salesman instead of a businessman. Or as Santana calls you, our land shark relation.”

  Santana glanced at Emma, who looked away, clearly awkward around him.

  He’d really spooked her.

  Hell, I really spooked myself.

  • • •

  “How did Mary hear about this estate sale?” Emma asked, staring up at the rundown Victorian. It had turned grey with age, its once-white porch and gingerbread trim now cast with a dirty somberness. The windows were bright and clean, though, and the magnolia trees out front looked healthy, despite the chilly winter day. People m
illed in and out of the old grand lady, carrying their spoils from the estate. There’d been a mile of cars parked down the narrow, dirt-packed road. Emma was amazed that so many people would have known about this house and its contents. There wasn’t another house around for what seemed like miles, its position in the countryside remote though accessible.

  “A cousin of hers owned the place, one Melly Shelby. Mary said Melly took care of everyone around here during the Depression, and if it hadn’t been for her, folks in this area might not have eaten.” Sierra looked thrilled to be making the detour, the men less so. Nick seemed amused, but he always wore a slightly-amused expression. It was a shame he’d come into the family on such devastating terms, Emma thought. Santana’s face was wreathed in a scowl, glowering at his sister for dragging them out here on a fool’s errand, and at Nick, for being, well, the instrument of their downfall, probably. Or maybe Santana scowled at Nick because they were total opposites in personality.

  “Come on,” she whispered to Santana, “it will only take five minutes.”

  “This whole wedding thing is insanity. Sierra needs to go to work at Mary’s restaurant. Someplace where she can draw a consistent wage.”

  “Let’s go see what your sister has found,” Emma said, trying to get his mind off Sierra’s madcap lifestyle.

  “Why we want a wedding dress that’s no doubt fifty years old, judging by the look of this place,” Santana said, “is a mystery to me. Don’t those things turn yellow after a few years? It’ll look like a yellowed mummy wrapping.”

  “Is he always Mr. Positive?” Nick asked Sierra.

  “He’s not into wedding stuff. Marriage in general is for foolish men who stupidly exchange their freedom for the chains of fidelity and matrimony,” Sierra said, studying a photo on a wall.

  Emma’s gaze met Santana’s, her eyes wide at Sierra’s words. The proposal he’d uttered created distance she wanted to close but couldn’t. He hadn’t meant to propose—or if he had, their marriage would be an impulse that wouldn’t stand the test of time. Yet she’d been unable to stop thinking about it, certain he wasn’t in love with her, wishing that he was somehow. “Hey, Emma, I think this is a photo of Mary when she was young, and probably Melly Shelby. That’s definitely Mary. I’d know that brave smile anywhere,” Sierra said.