Big Man's Bride (Big Men Small Towns 1)

My heart shouldn’t be pounding like this. Maybe it’s still the pent-up anger from seeing him destroying the porch, or the shock when I heard the house had been sold. The injury on his leg is obvious, and I do feel bad about it. There’s another, smaller part of me that wonders if he didn’t deserve it for what he’s doing. What his family is doing.

Of course he’s a Staunton. Anybody remotely familiar with real estate knows who they are. The Stauntons are rich beyond belief. They may be from New York, but cities all across the country have buildings with the Staunton name emblazoned across them. And courthouse across the country have heard complaints from communities where they tear down historic structures to build tacky developments to make a quick dollar. And just as I feared before I even met him, his family is among the people grabbing up land around Nashville and razing old houses to build condos and malls. They are soulless and ruthless businessmen, without any thought to history or regional architecture. Now they have taken Grandpa’s house from me too.

There is no way someone from that family would ever be kind enough to just sell me this house back because I ask nicely.

But that isn’t what’s making my heart rate spike. It’s him. Him and his dark hair and his darker eyes, and the way they’re locked on mine with intensity and interest. It’s the fact that he’s so clearly growing hard in those boxer briefs, and he isn’t able to hide it. It’s that I want him with a deep, animal lust that I’m unable to explain.

It’s that being on my knees in front of him turns me on in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.

And it’s completely ridiculous.

I’m not going to do this. No. I won’t give in. I am here to accomplish a single goal, and that’s to get this man to sell me my house back. But my body is quickly hijacking my agenda and telling me that there is another goal that we could achieve, one that involves orgasms without batteries.

My body is a traitor, but she can be controlled. Will be controlled.

Yes, by him, the devil on my shoulder whispers in my ear.

I shove the thought away as Caleb smiles at me. A small, knowing smirk, like he can read the struggle of lust on my face and knows that I’m in a losing battle.

Slowly, he lays his arms on the back of the couch, stretching his legs out a little more so he’s lazily sprawling. The motion draws his t-shirt tighter and shows me that his legs aren’t the only well-defined part of him. And the pose draws attention to the growing bulge in his lap.

And it is not small.

Oh God.

Just looking at it, I watch it grow bigger, now straining against his cotton boxer briefs. He isn’t even trying to hide it now, and my body, the traitor that it is, reacts. My nipples grow hard and a whisper of heat shivers through my core. And I have a feeling that that’s just a prelude of what’s to come.

I force myself to look away. To look down at his injured leg. To look anywhere but at his cock that’s begging for attention. What is wrong with me?

“I see you’re feeling better,” I say softly.

“In some ways,” he says. “It still hurts like a bitch, though.”

I wince. “Sorry about that.”

“No you’re not.”

“I am,” I manage to smile, still not looking at him. “Mostly.”

He laughs. The sound is warm like butter and syrup. Sweet and delicious. It drips down my spine, leaving a trail of heat. Suddenly, he leans forward, so our faces are close together. “Why did you come here?”

“I told you why.”

“And you thought that’s how it works? That I’d just hand over the house to you without any other considerations or questions?”

I swallow. It sounds so stupid when he puts it like that. “No,” I say. “Not like that … I just …” I huff out a breath. “I hoped that you would listen to my case, and maybe think about it. This house means everything to me.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “I can see that. But you seem distracted to me, Ally. I think that you’ve got other things on your mind right now.”

He’s obviously referring to his cock. The giant elephant in the room. Probably comparable in size, if we’re being honest. It’s hard to ignore.

“I don’t,” I lie.

“You do.”

Sitting this close to him, I can see that his eyes are dark brown. Nearly black. And yet there’s depth to them. His lips are full, and I find myself imagining what it would be like to just press my mouth to his and feel that same sweet heat race down my spine again.