But what difference did it make now that he knew? Sky wrestled with that question as he drove home. Bull Tyler hadn’t wanted anybody to know he’d slept with a Comanche woman and fathered her son. Yet, when young Sky had wandered onto the ranch and asked for work, Bull had kept him on and, years later, left him a parcel of land. Had Bull been moved by affection—or, more likely, by guilt?
The more he thought about it, the darker Sky’s mood became. Jasper had been too weak to tell him how it all happened. But any way you looked at it, the bottom line was, Bull Tyler had been too ashamed to acknowledge his half-breed son. And he hadn’t cared enough to reach out and help the mother who’d died of cancer when Sky was three. Maybe if he had, things would have been different. She might even have lived.
The pickup’s wheels spat dust as he pulled up to the long barn that housed the mares and foals. Across the yard, the rambling stone house appeared empty with the family gone.
But not quite empty.
Parked next to the porch, with the dust still settling around it, was a sleek black Corvette.
Sky struggled to ignore the jolt he felt. He’d met Lauren Prescott face-to-face just once. But that meeting stuck like a cholla spine in his memory. He’d picked her up in town at the Blue Coyote, half drunk and looking for trouble. The lady, who’d declined to give her name, had invited him to drive her car. They’d parked on an overlook and things were heating up when he’d realized the time and place wouldn’t work for what they had in mind. He’d driven her back to town, bought her coffee, and set her on the road home. End of story. Or so he’d thought.
A few weeks later he’d learned she was the visiting daughter of their jackass neighbor, Congressman Garn Prescott. She was also a capable accountant. Beau had hired her part time to create an online spreadsheet and enter the data for the ranch accounts. That would explain what she was doing here today.
So far, Sky had made himself scarce when she was around. Any meeting between them was bound to be awkward as hell. And her being Prescott’s spoiled princess daughter was a complication he didn’t need.
But that hadn’t stopped him from thinking about her, picturing that tousled red hair and those thoroughbred legs. It hadn’t stopped him from remembering the taste of her luscious mouth and the cool, firm silk of her breast in the hollow of his hand.
Now she was here—alone. And the pain of what he’d learned from Jasper was eating a hole in his gut. The urge to break the rules and do something crazy surged like wildfire in his veins. Damn it, he wanted her. And if having her was a risk, so much the better.
Kicking caution into the dust, Sky raked a hand through his black hair and strode toward the house.
Lauren was entering a line of data into the computerized studbook and double-checking the numbers when she heard the creak of a floorboard. She looked up.
He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame as if he’d been there awhile, just watching her.
Heat flooded Lauren’s face, staining her cheeks with crimson. “Can I . . . help you with something?” Her voice betrayed the effect he was having on her.
He took his time, his gaze flicking over her white linen blouse, unbuttoned at the throat and sheer enough to show the outline of the pink lace bra beneath. His mouth twitched as if holding back some forbidden comment.
“As I recollect, you and I never finished what we started.” He spoke in a slow drawl. “And I’m not a man to walk away from unfinished business.”
Pulse skittering, Lauren rose and walked around the desk. She wanted to put him in his place, to inform him that the half-drunken floozy he’d picked up in the bar wasn’t her real self. She had an education. She had goals and standards. And if Sky Fletcher thought he could just walk in here and expect her to fall into his arms . . .
They stood almost toe to toe. Hands on her hips, she glared up into his impossibly blue eyes.
Lord help her, she wanted the man. . . .
He waited with a knowing look that told her it was only a matter of time. Damn his complacency. It would serve him right to get his gorgeously chiseled face slapped hard enough to leave a bruise.
Even when her hand shot up, poised to strike, he didn’t turn away. His steady gaze was strong but disturbingly gentle. Lauren felt something break loose inside her—the shards of her resistance as she gave in to what she wanted. Her arm caught his neck. She strained upward, yearning for the kiss she’d remembered since that night in her car—the night that had left her burning for more.
Unfinished business, he’d called it. And now their bodies demanded that they finish what they’d started—here and now.
His lips crushed hers with a savage tenderness, demanding all she had to give. As he jerked her close, a hot, hungry ache surged inside her. His erection pressed her belly through layers of denim. She tilted her hips to heighten the tingle, molding her thighs to the solid ridge—demandingly hard and so big that she found herself wondering how he would fit inside her.
With a low mutter he slid his hands into her jeans, cupping her buttocks to rock her against him. She moaned, shuddered, and gasped. The burst of sensation that ripped through her was a release that left her wanting more. Moisture soaked her panties. In every way, she was ready for him.
Drawing back, she reached down and fumbled with his belt buckle. With a rough laugh, he moved her hand aside and finished the job himself, dropping his Wranglers and sliding on protection in a blur of movement. Her hip-hugging designer jeans came down with a single jerk to scrunch around her boot tops, along with her lace thong panties. There’d be no time to undress all the way; no caresses, no tender words. Nothing but raw, hot sex.
Right now it was all she needed.
Bracing her against the desktop, he tilted her back at a low angle. Her hands gripped his shoulders as his swollen length slid deep inside her. “Oh . . .” she gasped as her body clasped his heat. “Oh, sweet . . .” Her voice trailed off into incoherent mutters as he pulled back and thrust in again and again. Her eyes closed. Her head fell back. “Don’t stop,” she whispered as her muscles spasmed around him. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop . . .”
When she spiraled back to earth and opened her eyes, he was grinning down at her. “Okay if I stop now, Miss Prescott?” His dark blue eyes held a mischievous twinkle.
“I think . . .” Lauren fumbled for words. Despite feeling warm, rumpled, and deliciously wicked, she could sense reality closing in. She sat up as he turned away to reassemble himself. “I think what you’d better do is leave,” she said.
“That’s exactly what I plan to do.” He tucked in his shirt and fastened his belt buckle. “We’ve both got work, and I don’t know how much longer this house will be empty—so I suggest you pull up your britches before somebody comes home.”