Shadow Maverick Ranch Box Set Page 25

  Goddamn it.

  Bang, bang, riiiip.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  Clay straightened his back. His mouth curled into a sexy smile when he saw her. “What’s it look like? I’m fixing your porch.”

  “I didn’t ask you to fix anything. Put it back the way you found it.”

  He wiped his hands down the front of his jeans and stood. “No can do. Jesus, Ainsley. You’re lucky you haven’t hurt yourself. Some of the boards disintegrated the minute I touched them. Even if they hadn’t, there’s no way I’d put it back. Damn thing was a death trap.”

  “So you just decided to take it upon yourself to fix it? Without asking me?” From the looks of it, he’d been at it for a while.

  “Pretty much, yep.”

  Beyond irritated, she snapped. “And how much is all of this going to cost me?”

  His eyes darkened as he looked her over, head to boots and back again. Ainsley’s cheeks heated as she waited for him to come out and say what was clear from his expression. The arrogant bastard wanted sex for fixing her porch.

  Ainsley’s stomach flipped. She wanted him, but sleeping with him to resolve a debt came too close to whore territory. No thank you.

  He jumped down, his long legs eating the distance between them in no time. “Hey, it’s okay.” He ducked his head to capture her gaze. “It’s not going to cost you a thing, Ainsley.”

  “Then what was that look about?”

  “Damn, you’re suspicious. I was just enjoying the view, darlin’. You look mighty pretty with dirt on your cheeks and straw in your hair.” He reached up and pulled a stray piece from her hair and let it drift to the ground. “What’cha been doing to get so dirty?”

  Her nipples tightened.

  How does he do that?

  “I cleaned out the barn. It’s something I’ve been meaning to do for awhile, but hadn’t gotten around to.” She stepped back, needing distance while they talked. “I won’t let you pay to fix my porch, Clay.” As much as it would set her back, she’d make it right.

  He waved an arm toward the truck. “The lumber didn’t cost anything. It’s left over from a deck my brother and I built a few years back. I kept the leftovers for a project I don’t have time for. Honestly, by using the lumber to fix your decrepit porch, you’re saving me the guilt of having an unfinished project hanging over my head.”

  “I can’t let you do this for nothing. If you won’t let me pay for the lumber, then I’ll pay for your time.” She wouldn’t be indebted to him. Not in any way.

  He seemed to consider that for a minute. “You know how to cook?”

  Ainsley puffed out a laugh at his unexpected question. “Yes.”

  “Then my fee is dinner.” He patted his flat stomach. “And don’t laugh. I’m a hearty eater. It’ll take me a few more hours to shore up the frame and add the new decking. I’ll need a shower when I get finished, but if you don’t mind me using yours—it’ll save me the drive home and back—we can eat before nightfall.”

  The image of Clay in her shower hit her. With his height, he’d have to bend his knees to accommodate the showerhead. She imagined him, rivulets of water racing over his muscular body, the scent of her soap on his skin. Would he stroke his length to full erection and picture it was her hand instead of his own? Would he want her to join him?

  Ainsley shifted. “And this is how you wanted to spend your Sunday?” She doubted it as much as she doubted his story about the lumber. He’d said his interest in her had nothing to do with his brother’s attempts to convince her to sell. Did she believe him? Or was this another attempt to gain her compliance? Improving the house added to the value, didn’t it? If Clay were in cahoots with his brother, he could kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. Add value to the house while endearing her to him with the gesture.

  “The scenery is better here than at my place.” His voice turned thick, husky. “And we have some unfinished business to explore.”

  Sweet mercy.

  “So, how about it?” He stuck his hand out. “Have we got a deal?”

  Ainsley studied his tanned face. The sharp angle of his jaw, the curve of his nose, eyes dark as coffee. He stared at her with a mixture of interest and amusement. There was no indication he was anything but sincere.

  No sense fighting the inevitable. She’d started them down this path when she’d tried to pick him up last night. They were adults. And she wanted him.

  “I planned to make spaghetti tonight.”

  “My favorite.”

  “None of that store-bought crap. I make my own sauce from ingredients out of my garden.”

  “Even better.” He twitched his hand. “You gonna leave me hanging?”

  Her sex clenched. Oh no, she wouldn’t leave him hanging. Not now, not later. She placed her hand in his and gave it a shake. “You’ve got a deal, but this is the last time you pull a stunt like this. If I need something fixed, I’ll take care of it. This ranch, this house—both are my responsibility. Got it?”

  Even as she scolded him, a strange sense of satisfaction settled in her chest. She would take care of him tonight, in more ways than one. Her hands would create something to sustain him, while later, those same hands would give him relief—a massage for his strained muscles—and release—while she stroked him.

  Ainsley wasn’t a girly-girl, but the innately feminine part of her purred at the knowledge she’d know him intimately before the day was through.

  Clay jerked her against him, brows lifted. “What’re you thinking about, Ains? ’Cause I gotta tell you, the sexy expression on your face has me intrigued.”

  The way he shortened her name made her heart flutter. She curled her arms around his neck and went up on her toes. “I’m thinking I’ve got a half-naked, sweaty cowboy all to my little ole self.”

  The arrogant, panty-melting smirk made a reappearance. “That right? What’re you gonna do about it?”

  Ainsley didn’t wait for him to take the lead. She dove in, lips first, and took the kiss she craved.

  Clay didn’t disappoint. She half expected him to wrestle her for control. He didn’t. Instead, he kept his hold on her firm, but not pushy. His mouth opened at her insistence, and he seemed content to let her explore—his teeth, his tongue, his lips—to her heart’s content.

  And explore she did. Not only with her mouth. She speared her fingers through his sweat-soaked hair and massaged his scalp with her fingertips. She traced the curve of his ear, tugging slightly when she reached the lobe. His broad shoulders were slick and hard. The light smattering of dark chest hair tickled her palms as she moved over the curves of his pecs. She took her time, learned what he liked by the rumble in his chest.

  When she swiped a thumb over the flat disc of his nipple, his breath hitched. He stilled her roaming hands, nipped her bottom lip, and pulled away.

  “Unless you’re prepared for me to fuck you right here in the dirt, your clever little hands better take a rest.”

  She blinked. “What if I said I wanted you to fuck me right here in the dirt?”

  He groaned and dropped his forehead to hers. “I’d say you’re an evil woman. I’d say give me the word and I’ll have you on your hands and knees. I’ll yank your shorts down and shove my dick so far inside you, you’ll feel me for a week. And I won’t give a shit if anyone sees us.”

  He pulled back again and jutted his chin, his gaze locked somewhere behind her.

  Damn. Damn, damn, double damn.

  Her crew didn’t work on Sundays.

  Ainsley turned her head to see a horse and rider at the far end of the driveway and heading their way.

  What the hell was going on? She officially had more visitors today than any other day since she’d moved here.

  Ainsley let out a long sigh. “So much for hot and kinky outdoor sex, huh?” At this point, Ainsley would take any kind of sex. Her body was about to implode.

  “Kinky, huh? You into kinky outdoor action?”

  “Gue
ss we won’t find out, will we?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Best thing about interruptions? They’re only temporary. I promised you we’d get to the good stuff, Ains. And I always keep my promises.”

  Ainsley rolled her eyes. “Lord save me from smooth-talking cowboys.”

  Clay rewarded her with a rich, husky laugh.

  “Want me to come with you?” he asked as she started down the drive to greet the unwanted visitor.

  “I got it, thanks. I handled things just fine before you showed up, and I’ll handle them after you’re gone.”

  Her life wasn’t changing. Not one. Little. Bit.

  #

  It hadn’t taken him near as long as he’d expected to finish the repair work on the porch. Once he had the old decking removed, he discovered the frame was in relatively good shape, considering how long ago it must’ve been built. He added a couple of crossbeam supports for good measure, and then he only had to lay the new boards.

  By late afternoon, he was done.

  He would’ve been done a lot sooner if Ainsley hadn’t distracted him. She’d come back from meeting her visitor with an armload of what appeared to be homemade bread. Since she couldn’t get in through the front door, Clay assumed she entered the house through the back, because the next time he’d seen her, she was bread-less and walking the rows of her garden with a basket against her hip. He had watched as she considered the plants, seemingly choosing with care what she deemed worthy to go in the basket. Once she’d made her selections, she’d disappeared yet again. When she returned, she’d spent the next hour pulling weeds, bending over and giving him a delicious view of her fine ass.

  His poor thumbs were damn near black and blue from the near misses with the hammer.

  He finished loading his tools into the truck and grabbed his duffle bag from the back. He double-checked the porch steps, rocking back and forth, testing his weight along the boards. Each one was solid as a rock. As was the porch itself. If he ever wanted to give up the cattle business, he figured he could earn a decent living building shit.

  At least now Ainsley wouldn’t have to play Twister to get from the damn door to the ground.

  Clay opened the screen door and frowned, wondering why she’d left the door open in this heat instead of cranking the A/C as most people around here did.

  “Ainsley?” he called. “Come check out your new porch.”

  She came into view with a smile that knocked his boots off, her sea-green eyes alight with something akin to happiness.

  She’d changed her clothes. She wore a faded blue top and tan-colored shorts that hugged her hips. He did a quick check to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind that would damage her bare feet.

  “All finished?” She wiped her hands on a dishtowel and hooked it over her shoulder.

  He stepped back. “Check for yourself.”

  The citrus scent he’d begun to associate with her tickled his nose as she breezed by. She’d showered and, for the first time, he got a look at her unrestrained hair. He originally thought it blonde, but it was actually a crazy mix of golds, yellows, and reds. Thick and straight, it fell over her shoulders and down her back, much longer than he’d expected. Perfect to wrap his fist around as he pounded into her.

  “Oh wow, Clay.” She turned a circle, then stopped to bounce on the balls of her feet, much as he’d done, to check the strength. “This is fantastic, thank you.”

  The sun brought out the natural beauty of her face. Clay liked that she didn’t cover up those sexy freckles on her nose with makeup. He liked her just as she was. Strong and independent. Able to handle herself in a bar full of cowboys, yet melt like butter when in his arms.

  She tucked her hair behind an ear, her expression torn as she looked him over. “I really want to throw myself at you, but…”

  He laughed. “Say no more. Point me toward the shower.”

  For the second time that day, Clay followed Ainsley into the house.

  “Jesus, what’s that smell?” He closed his eyes, raising his face to absorb the delicious scent.

  She beamed. “Dinner. Which will be ready soon, so you better get a move on.” He followed her through the living room to the bottom of the stairs. “You can use my bathroom.” She looked him over, the hunger in her gaze firing him up. It took every ounce of self-restraint to keep his hands from her. “It’s the largest. You’ll have to go through my bedroom to get there. First door on the left. I put a towel on the counter for you.”

  He kept his hands to himself, but couldn’t resist leaning in for a quick kiss. He pecked her cheek. “Thanks, darlin’. I’ve worked up quite an appetite.” Not just for food.

  Her eyes smoldered, and Clay almost lost his resolve not to rub his sweaty man funk all over her.

  “Better hurry then.”

  She yipped as he popped her on the ass and jogged up the stairs.

  He couldn’t keep his gaze from her bed as he passed through to the bathroom. Thank God it wasn’t twin-sized, nor a king-size where she could sleep away from him either. He’d be able to hold her close, have her warm curves against him as he slept.

  And when the hell had he started caring about that shit? Usually, once the deed was done, he was ready to hit his own sheets. Alone. He didn’t take women to his trailer for a reason. He didn’t like to invite misunderstandings. Sleeping with a woman after sex, allowing her free reign of his home, screamed an intimacy Clay stayed away from.

  Until now, apparently, because he could definitely imagine waking up next to Ainsley, her body limp and satisfied.

  Her rumpled sheets made him grin. He’d know how soft the mattress was before the night was up. He hoped the antique metal frame was as sturdy as it looked.

  He kept walking.

  The bathroom wasn’t huge. He closed the door behind him and dropped his bag to the floor.

  A vanity sat against one wall, its single sink rust-lined from age. The counter wasn’t cluttered. No bottles of lotion or sweet-smelling perfumes. No frills of any kind. Just the towel she’d left out for him.

  A shower/tub combo filled the end of the room. Clay sat on the edge of the tub and pulled off his boots. He had tossed his sweaty shirt into the bed of his truck hours ago, so all that remained were his jeans, boxer-briefs, and socks, which he stripped off and left in a pile with his boots.

  He started the shower and waited until the water heated before he stepped in, pulling the clear curtain closed.

  Clay forced himself to work methodically. He washed his hair, scrubbed his arms, legs, and chest. Water and soap sluiced down his legs and swirled around the drain, taking the sweat and dirt of the day with it.

  The hard-on he’d been sporting since he kissed her protested the lack of attention to detail. He was tempted to jack off to relieve the pressure making his balls feel as though they were about to explode. If he didn’t act, then his chances of lasting more than a minute when buried in Ainsley’s heat were slim to none, he was sad to admit.

  He fisted his length with a soapy hand. He’d been so ramped up for her since the moment of her shy little “hi” the night before, it was nothing short of a miracle he’d lasted this long.

  He bit his lip, looked down to find the bulbous head red and angry looking. Moisture leaked from the tip. He stroked up and smoothed his thumb across the ridge to wipe it away.

  A hiss escaped through his teeth. Fuck that felt good.

  For the sake of his sanity, he tightened his grip to borderline painful. His teeth clenched as he started slow, moving his hand up and down from base to tip. He leaned into the spray and braced a hand against the wall of the shower.

  His heart thrummed, its rhythm matching that of his hand. He stroked harder, faster. In his mind, it wasn’t his hand doing the work, but Ainsley’s. She had strong, work-roughened hands. Where most women fell short—from fear of hurting him, or lack of temerity, Clay didn’t know—Ainsley had the passion inside her to give him what he needed. A firm, confident grip. Powerful, st
eady strokes. A soft, warm landing.

  His breath puffed out in quiet pants as his balls drew up tight. His legs shook as his fingers sought to dig through the side of the shower. The base of his spine tingled a second before his release.

  Clay squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head to his forearm. He continued to stroke, slower now, as he pumped his release to the shower floor.

  He had no idea how long he stood there. His heart finally slowed to a normal rhythm and he raised his head to realize the water had turned cold. He did a quick rinse and made sure the evidence of what he’d done had washed down the drain.

  Clay turned off the water and stepped out. He dried himself off and pulled a freshly washed set of clothes out of his bag. The contract Gavin had given him fell out onto the floor. Clay shoved the thing back in and jerked the zipper closed.

  Man, he was in so much trouble. He didn’t want to get involved, but he couldn’t get Gavin’s words out of his head. What kind of trouble had Ainsley gotten into? What had he gotten himself into? If she knew Gavin had asked him to talk to her, she’d kick his ass out faster than he could blink.

  Annnd he’d just whacked off in her shower. No denying he felt a hundred times more relaxed, but what had he been thinking?

  Fuck.

  He didn’t think where Ainsley was concerned. With her, he was all about the action. She ran away. He went after her. Her porch needed repair. He repaired it. Her lips needed kissing, and goddamn if he hadn’t done his best to erase the memory of any man who’d been there before him.

  Action.

  “Clay?” Ainsley’s voice drifted up through the floor. “Bring the towel along with your dirty clothes and I’ll toss them in the wash. Dinner’s ready.”

  Clay stared at the floor like a monkey staring at a math problem. There. A vent along the baseboard. The bathroom must be directly over the kitchen. Christ. Had she heard him come? The thought threatened to make him hard again.

  See? Action.

  Chapter Seven

  Ainsley held a cool cloth to her cheeks. She could blame the heat from the kitchen for the flush covering her skin. But really, the cause of her uncomfortable condition was clomping his boots down her stairs right this very minute.