Stripped Down

“Not a fucking chance.”

“You sure about that, ace?” She smiles up at me slowly, treading water while she plots her next move. Even now, in the dark, the water isn’t enough to hide her body from me. The curve of her breasts is all too obvious when her arms meet and then push the water away. My dick likes our view a whole lot. Rose has done a whole lot of growing up since she was not-so-sweet sixteen. Thank God.

She’d come onto me hard back then, and I’d shot her down. There are rules a man doesn’t break, and if he does, he’s in no place to complain when somebody with a stronger moral compass castrates the fuck out of him. I hadn’t touched Rose then because she’d been too young. Now, however, I can see for myself that she’s all grown up, and believe me, I’m grateful.

“My place, my rules.” She learns that now.

She snorts, a whole lot of get-lost packed in the sound. Nothing has changed. Paddling her ass had once topped my fantasy to do list, followed by screwing the hell out of her. I hadn’t got either wish, but she’s not sixteen anymore.

Things change, and sometimes for the better.

“You wanna explain why you’re here?”

I mean in Lonesome—because Rose swore on more than one occasion that once she shook the dust from my ranch and my town that she wasn’t coming back, ever—but of course she takes me literally.

“It’s hot, cowboy.” She flicks a handful of water toward me. “I wanted to cool off.”

Pretty sure I don’t care about the explanation. Broke, tired, missing Auntie Dee, hell frozen over—none of that matters. The one thought pounding through my head is that Rose isn’t sixteen anymore. She’s grown up.

She’s not off-limits.

“You finally came home, darling. It’s about time. Past time, actually.”

Unfortunately, the naked part is downright distracting. Naked. My head—both big and little—is stuck on that. This is Rose Jordan in the flesh. Rose Jordan I could scoop up out of that water and lay out in the back of my pickup. I’d make her holler as I ate her right up. I’ll bet that, when Rose Jordan comes, she comes as wholeheartedly as she does everything else.

This is my land. My territory.

And, whether Rose Jordan realizes it or not, she’s mine, too.

ROSE

Angel still packs a brute-force sensuality that makes no bones about the raw power of the man. Sure and confident, he runs this ranch and everyone on it. Angel is a mostly benevolent dictator—I’ve always know that, even when I gave him shit about his dictatorial ways—but he’s the man in charge, and he’ll always do what he believes is best for Blackhawk Ranch.

He drives me crazy.

There’s no place for me in his world. I’ll never belong to any man, not one percent and definitely not one hundred percent, and Angel would demand nothing less than complete possession. You can tell that just from looking at him. And even if I did have that kind of interest in him, he’s never seen me as more than just another one of his younger brothers’ friends. There’s also one more thing I know: he might yell, but he won’t hurt me. Which means he’s scared the shit out of me on purpose with his sneaking up and issuing threats crap. Before I can think it through, I wind up and chuck the shampoo bottle at him.

He fixes me with a hard stare, one hand shooting up effortlessly to catch the plastic bottle before he sets it down carefully by my things. He’s always so precise, so restrained. It makes me want to crack that gorgeous surface of his and see if I can make him lose control.

No.

I’m different now. I’m not sixteen, and I don’t need or want his attention. Not anymore.

“Hell, Rose,” he drawls. “This is my land. You shouldn’t be out here, swimming all by yourself.” That calm voice is the voice of reason. Logical. So damned right when I’m always wrong. “It’s dark. You’re alone. Does anyone know you’re here?”

“I’m perfectly safe.” I can hear the betraying tightness in my own voice, but now that the adrenaline has subsided, there’s no way I’ll admit he’s right. I never have before, and I’m sure not starting now. Let a man like Angel know he has the upper hand, and he’ll walk all over you. “I practically grew up here. The only people likely to be out here are you and your brothers.”

He shakes his head… and cue the disappointment speech. “Likely doesn’t mean certain, Rose. Shit happens all the time.”

“Yeah.” I ease my head backward, keeping my chest underwater. There are stars overhead— how long has it been since I watched the impossible crispness of this black sky with its countless pinpricks of light? My fingers work through my hair, washing out the last remnants of shampoo. “I know all about shit happening, Angel. I don’t need a lesson from you there.”