Keeping What's His: Tate (Porter Brothers Trilogy 1)

“Tate, put me down! You can’t carry me down this mountain. You’re too weak. You’ll fall!”

He buried his face in her neck and she slid her arms around his neck, careful not to press against the wound on his chest.

“Your heart is telling you to give me a chance … Look where we are, Sutton.”

She gazed around her, and it took her only a moment to realize where they were. It was the exact spot where they used to meet when they were teenagers, where they would lie on the old quilt and talk about their future.

Like a wounded animal, she had unconsciously sought the place she had found her greatest happiness, feeling safe in Tate’s arms.

Her heart was telling her what her mind wouldn’t accept: she was going to give him another chance.

Chapter 16

“You’re cheating,” Sutton accused him.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. You said we could move at my speed. You walking around the house half-naked is cheating.”

Tate gave her a saccharine smile. “It’s hot.”

Sutton couldn’t disagree with him. He was hot, and his body awakened desires she hadn’t felt in years, reminding her she was still a flesh-and-blood woman. She unconsciously licked her bottom lip when she noticed the growing bulge in his jeans.

Tate was leaning back on the kitchen counter, drinking a beer, wearing jeans that fell to his hip bones. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, which showed off his broad shoulders. The man was rock-hard. He didn’t have a six-pack; he was too muscular for that.

The sexual tension was building, every time she came in contact with him, the hair on her arms would stand up from the electric charge that passed between them.

“Want a sip?”

“No, thanks.”

“I thought, from the way you were staring, you wanted some.”

Sutton gritted her teeth. The man was too experienced not to know that she was attracted, just like a cat wanting catnip.

“If I want one, I’ll get one all by myself,” she taunted.

“Really? Can I watch?”

“Sure.” Sutton walked to the fridge, taking out a beer and popping the top. Taking a drink, her eyes met Tate’s. The tension between them escalated with the deliberate challenge in her gaze.

Tate slammed his beer down on the counter then made a sudden move toward her.

Her desire died as she took a step back.

Tate stopped a few feet away from her, his chest heaving as his hands clenched at his sides.

“Sassy pants, I can take the teasing, but I can’t take the fear. I would never hurt you. I would give you my rifle to shoot me if I ever did.”

Her body relaxed against the counter. “I believe you.”

“You better.” He slowly walked closer, placing a hand on each side of her on the counter, pinning her in place. “I’m not going to rush you. You deserve to be courted and made to feel special.”

“You’re not exactly a man I would take for being patient.”

Tate gave her a seductive look. “I’m very patient.”

A nervous laugh escaped her as she placed her hands on his shoulders, pushing him back. “I need to cook dinner. Go into the living room and finish your beer.”

Tate was turning to head that way when a knock sounded on the kitchen window at her back.

“Are your brothers ever going to come to the front door?” She stared at Greer who was gawking at her from the other side of the glass.

“I think he and Dustin are getting a kick with all the sneaking around. Don’t spoil their fun.”

“I’d rather kick them in the ass.” Sutton pushed the window up higher so Greer could clamor inside. “Don’t knock anything over,” she sneered at him.

She quickly moved the crockpot of beans she had spent the day cooking, if the big goof knocked them over, she would knock him over the head with the pan of fried potatoes sitting on the stove.

“Do I smell soup beans?” Greer sniffed the air, his feet still hanging from the window. “And cornbread?”

“No,” Sutton lied. Deliberately, she reached out, tugging his feet loose.

“Wait …” Greer fell to the floor and glared up at her.

“Sorry.”

“I bet.” Greer stood, picking up his baseball cap from the floor and placing it back on his head. “Woman, you have a vicious streak, but I can deal with it if you give me a bowl of those beans.”

Sutton raised a brow, remaining still.

Greer sighed. “I came by to tell you there’s been another shooting in town.”

“Anyone hurt?” Tate asked sharply.

“No, but Rider has a big hole in his helmet.”

“Rider? He gave me a ride home the night I went out with Cheryl,” Sutton butted into the conservation. “Is he okay?”

“You gonna give me a bowl of them beans?”

Before she could tell Greer where she would shove those beans, Tate answered her.

“He’s fine. The son of a bitch is a Last Rider, and they each have nine lives.”