Buckled (Trails of Sin 2)

I glance around, dazed. “When did I—?”

“You passed out about an hour ago. I wish I could’ve carried you to bed for a change.”

She slumps onto the cushion beside me, as if every muscle has given up its fight against gravity. Her shoulders hang limp with fatigue, her freshly-showered hair dripping down her arms. Bleary-eyed and sleep-deprived, she’s so damn gorgeous it’s arresting.

I can’t bear the thought of spending another night away from her.

“Come on.” I drag my dog-tired body off the couch and clasp her hand.

She doesn’t try to pull free as I lead her through the dark house and into my wing.

Jake and Conor must’ve already gone to bed for the night. That’s where I’m headed, only this time, I won’t be alone.

“Jarret.” She digs in her feet as we pass her room. “Where are you—?”

I tighten my grip on her hand and pull her the rest of the way to my suite.

“I’m too tired to fight you.” I release her outside my door and amble to the bed. “I’m too tired to do anything but sleep. But I want you beside me.”

She lingers on the threshold as I lower onto the mattress and bend to remove my boots. My hands, my back, every joint in my body aches so deeply and thoroughly the smallest movement clenches my teeth.

If I can just get out of these clothes, a good night’s rest will take away the pain. I tug on a boot, grunting with frustration.

Her silhouette stirs in my periphery, and the soft pad of her footsteps approaches. She’s been at the ranch for eight days, and this is the first time she’s entered my suite.

“I’ll do this.” She kneels before me and removes my boots and socks with a gentleness that makes me moan.

I collapse on my back, legs dangling off the bed, and fight to keep my eyes open. “I can’t move.”

“I like you like this.” She stands between my knees and rests her hands on her hips. “A big, harmless baby.”

I try to formulate a response, but my brain isn’t working. The next thing I know, she’s crawling over me, attempting to remove my shirt.

“You fell asleep again. Lean up.” She pushes the cotton up my chest and works it off my head with little help from me.

Her eyes dip to my belt buckle, and she blows out a breath.

“I’m going to remove your jeans. Don’t get any ideas.” She tackles my belt and zipper. “We’re just sleeping.”

“Sleep sounds great,” I mumble.

She tugs the denim down my hips, keeping my briefs in place as I lift and arch with the last of my strength.

The jeans drop to the floor, and she steps back, chest heaving, lips parted, and greedy eyes devouring my useless, half-nude body.

She likes what she sees. Too bad I don’t have the energy to do something about that.

“Jesus, you’re…” Her breath catches. “Really hard.”

I glance down at the semi in my briefs and shut my eyes. “Only way that’s getting any action is if you fall on it. I couldn’t move my hips if I tried.”

“No, I mean, you’re hard everywhere. Sorry, I just… I’ve never seen a man who looks like you.”

My nostrils flare. I don’t want to think about the men she’s seen. “Come to bed.”

“I think I’ll just…” Her retreating footsteps crack open my eyes. “I’ll sleep in the other room.”

“No, you won’t.” I drag my ass to the center of the bed with clumsy movements and yank the sheet over me.

“I won’t be another notch in your bedpost.”

“I’ve never slept beside anyone.” I lift the covers in invitation. “Please.”

“Never?” Her eyebrows jump.

“Not once.”

“I’m the first?”

“The only one.”

Her bottom lip rolls between her teeth, and she releases it with a stern expression. “No sex.”

“Get your stubborn ass over here.”

“Say please again.” She crosses her arms.

“You’re going to be the death of me.” I drop the covers and sink into the pillow. “Please.”

Biting down on her smile, she shuts the door, flips off the light, and tiptoes through the room.

“You have an urban modern decor thing going on in here.” She slides in beside me, keeping several feet between us. “Very monochromatic with the gray and black color scheme and steel furniture.”

Whatever that means.

I hook an arm around her waist and pull her across the mattress until her back is flush with my chest. She squeaks, stiffens against me, then relaxes.

“You expected stuffed opossums?” I run my nose through her soft, damp hair, savoring the feel of it against my face.

“Yeah. And a wall of shotguns, thermal long johns, riding crops…”

“Long johns are in the closet.”

“Only you could wear those and still look hot.”

“Stick around until winter and you can see for yourself.”

She clears her throat, fading into a whisper. “What’s on the agenda tomorrow?”

“We’ll sleep in till six.”

She releases a lethargic snort.