Just anger and hurt and too much past history between them to ever overcome.
Fine. He stood up. “I’m going to take a quick shower before I head back out,” he told her. He’d been planning for several days now to accompany his ranch hands when they rode up to the higher mountain pastures to check on the cows and calves. Today was as good a day as any.
“Enjoy yourself,” she said, without meeting his eyes.
“I will,” he bit out, and stalked out of the room.
Well, that had come out both childish and churlish. But that’s how he was feeling right now.
He walked into his room, ripped his clothes off, and tossed them on the floor, not bothering with the hamper.
Angry, he climbed into the shower, wondering how much more of this he could take. Being so near to her and not being able to touch her. Watching her flinch away from him.
He found his hand drifting to his thick erection, gripping it hard, imagining that it was her hand on him. God, what he’d do to her…
Suddenly, he realized that somebody was in his bedroom. He could hear drawers rattling and a door slamming.
That wasn’t Abigail, was it? It couldn’t be. She had literally never set foot in his bedroom.
He turned the water off, toweled off quickly, and then wrapped a towel around his midsection. He flung open the bathroom door to see Abigail dumping a garbage bag of clothes on to his closet floor and quickly shutting the closet door.
His bedroom door was wide open, and she’d stripped off her shirt and stood before him in her lacy camisole and flowered skirt, the outline of her pink nipples standing out in perfect circles.
At his startled glance, she hissed “Follow my lead,” and threw her arms around him, tilting her head back for a kiss.
Follow her lead? Okay. This was only what had been haunting his dreams ever since the night he’d been with her…
He grabbed her roughly, fingers tangling in her silky brown hair, tilting her head back and claiming her mouth in a kiss that bore no tenderness at all. With one hand, he cupped the full globe of her left buttock, and pressed her up against him, so his throbbing cock was pressed into her soft flesh.
He ravaged her mouth, with hungry thrusts of his tongue, sucking her into him, his fingers tightening in her hair.
In the hallway, he heard angry shouts and footsteps banging towards them.
“You can’t go in there! What do you think-“ It was the voice of his ranch hand Mack, in his doorway. He let go of Abigail spun around, only to see his brother, his brother’s wife, and Winston Maplethorpe, head of the trust that managed the Jackson ranch’s affairs, all standing and staring at him.
Ludmilla, Clayton’s wife, was a tall, willowy blonde, shockingly thin, with sharp cheekbones and beestung lips. She dressed like someone pretending to be a rancher’s wife, in spotless designer jeans that looked as if they were painted onto her pipecleaner-thin legs, and gleaming new ostrich skin cowboy boots with mother of pearl inlay which must have cost several thousand dollars and would never get a speck of mud on them. Her makeup was flawlessly applied, pink lips gleaming with frosty gloss and emerald green eyes outlined with perfectly applied makeup in khaki tones.
Clayton wore a gray suit, hand tailored raw silk, with a pale blue silk shirt and shoes of buttery soft Italian leather. He had travelled as far from his ranch roots as he could go without taking a rocket to the moon. He even highlighted his brown hair now.
Only Winston looked as if he belonged on a ranch; a silver-haired farmer in his sixties, he wore battered old cowboy boots, well worn jeans, and a denim snap-front shirt with a bolo tie clipped with a hunk of turquoise. And he had the good grace to look embarrassed at their intrusion.
So that was why his wife was suddenly overcome with passion for him, Ty thought with a dull throb in his chest. Because his brother had showed up to spy on him.
Anger and frustration boiled up in
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