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  “If the boot fits…”

  She wasn’t sure how he was going to react. For all she knew, he would climb up on his horse and ride off to the ranch house without her. But she wasn’t about to back down.

  What she hadn’t expected him to do was to reach for her and crush her against the hard wall of his chest and kiss her.

  The sweet smell of Texas bluebonnets, the sweep of warm air and the heat of his body combined to leave Jo breathless. She made a small sound as he ran his hands down her back to her bottom, shamelessly pressing her against his stiff manhood, his mouth claiming hers.

  And she gave back as good as she got.

  Jo fumbled between them to reach for his belt buckle, yanking on the fly to free the fabric from the buttons, and then worked her hand between them to cup his pulsing length in her palm.

  Trace groaned, tipping his face toward the sky as if saying a little prayer.

  Jo focused her attention on his neck, licking the salt from his skin, nudging aside his collar so she could gain better access to his shoulder. Damn, but he tasted better than any man had a right to.

  She squeezed her fingers around his thick shaft and freed his erection from his boxers and jeans, stroking him in the evening air.

  One of the horses neighed softly, but neither human paid it any mind as they hungrily pulled and tugged until they were bare from shoulder to toe, Trace laying his shirt on the ground and then lowering her on top of it. He coaxed her legs apart and then filled the empty space with two hundred pounds of long, solid male.

  Jo arched her back, yearning for a fuller meeting.

  He kissed her neck and then her ear before whispering, “I don’t have anything.”

  Jo caught her breath. Protection. She didn’t have any, either. God save her, but she didn’t normally carry condoms along with her ChapStick. Not when all she’d been planning was a ride out on the range.

  She held him a little tighter, feeling his pulsing erection pressing against her bare, trembling stomach, and wondered how she’d be able to survive the next five minutes without having him inside her.

  Trace grinned. “I don’t have to have intercourse with you to make love to you.”

  He started to slide down her body. She gasped, trying to grab his shoulders and force him back up.

  She wasn’t surprised that the stubborn son of a gun continued on as if it was of no nevermind to him how she felt…

  “PLEASE, TRACE, I don’t like that. I’m not at all comfortable with…oh!”

  Trace was pleased when he robbed Jo of words with a simple brush of his mouth against the damp curls between her legs.

  He got the distinct impression that she’d never allowed anyone to sample her sweet nectar before. And it satisfied him beyond belief that he was going to be the first.

  She tried to squeeze her thighs together. He easily eased them back apart, taking note of the way she seemed to tremble from head to foot. He had little doubt that the moment his mouth touched her molten core, she would come apart. But he wasn’t about to let her go that easily. He had intended to make love to her long and hard. And he was going to. Just in a different way.

  Jo bucked underneath him, trying to wriggle away, he was sure. He grasped her hips and pinned her to the ground. Then he burrowed his nose into her silken curls, seeking the tiny nub of flesh buried there. Her musky scent filled his nostrils, suffusing his muscles with the deep, fundamental need to fulfill his woman.

  Eureka.

  He found the budding flower and tilted his head so that his tongue could follow that same path.

  As predicted, Jo exploded into a thousand pieces, the words “no” and “yes” alternating in trembling gasps. Trace relaxed his grip on her. If anything was to convince her of the beauty of oral sex, this was it. He didn’t think he’d be having any problems with her from here on in.

  Which was good. Because he wasn’t anywhere near done…

  Chapter Eleven

  JO HAD NEVER FELT such bliss. And it was amazing that she hadn’t had to do a thing to attain it. Her womanhood throbbed, her breasts tingled and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath no matter how hard she tried.

  As the world slowly came back into focus, she noticed something else: strangely, she felt empty.

  She was used to achieving climax through intercourse. Masturbation had never been her thing; she’d always been deathly afraid her mother would catch her, and that image was enough to ban the activity for life. Full coital was where it was at.

  “Do you know how beautiful you are?” Trace said softly, stroking her with his fingers.

  Jo shifted restlessly, his words making her feel beautiful. “I am not. My thighs are too thick, my breasts too small.”

  He licked the inside of her right thigh and reached up to cup one of her breasts, lightly pinching her aching nipple. “Mmm. Perfect.”

  Jo caught her bottom lip between her teeth to keep from crying out as he slid his hand down her stomach at a torturously slow pace. She was torn between forcing him up to kiss her, or urging his head back between her legs so he could continue weaving his magic.

  He made the decision for her by running his thumbs along the length of her swollen labia, then back up again, stopping midway and parting her.

  She grabbed handfuls of his shirt where it lay under her, holding on for dear life as he flicked the tip of his tongue against her clit.

  Dear heaven…

  Pure, unadulterated need swirled around and around inside her, growing tighter with each rotation. She struggled not to buck against his mouth as he lapped the dampness away, leaving a different dampness in its wake. She was gripped by an urge to squeeze her legs together against the building pressure, but his shoulders got in the way, so she squeezed against them.

  Then he fastened his lips around her clit and ran his tongue along the ultrasensitive bud.

  She shook her head back and forth wildly and pounded her fist against the ground.

  “Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes…”

  The words came out in one long moan as she finally gave in to the desire to bear down against his glorious mouth.

  The ball of tension inside her released, spiraling upward and out, thrashing through her veins like a lightning quick whip.

  But rather than feel relieved as she regained control over her senses, she knew an even greater need to have him inside her.

  He finally gave in to her demands to slide on top of her, and then she rolled him over until she straddled his hips.

  He stared at her, as if completely understanding what she wanted. And she could see he wanted it, too.

  “You could withdraw…” Her voice was raspy.

  “I could,” he agreed.

  Then thrust upward, finally, utterly filling her.

  And completely forgot to withdraw…

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Trace got up before dawn, even before Alma came to see to breakfast. He stood on the back porch, leaning against the support post, drinking coffee and contemplating everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours.

  Truth be told, he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. Not with everything that was going on. He’d lain awake, reliving the scene of his brother’s returning home. What should have been a warm welcome had turned into a nasty reunion.

  “Hey, lil’ bro,” Eric had said, hugging him. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Good to see you, too,” Trace had grumbled. “But it would have been nice if you’d told me you were coming in early.”

  “What, so you could spring a barbecue on me the first day? I decided to pass.”

  Eric had greeted Clint, and then the stable manager had disappeared back into the barn to see to the mare that had to be put down.

  The two brothers stood staring at each other with nothing to say, as if six months hadn’t passed since they’d last been together.

  If only things had stayed that way, Trace thought, with a grimace that had nothing to do with the bitter coffee.

&n
bsp; “So what’s going on?” Eric had said.

  It hadn’t helped that a month’s worth of mishaps had transpired in one single morning. Trace hadn’t relished sharing the problems with his brother. Partly because he felt guilty. Eric seemed to expect that, under Trace’s control, the ranch would be falling to pieces.

  He took another long swig from his cup and then spat the coffee out, his gaze drawn to the bunkhouses a couple hundred yards away. He could make out lights beginning to switch on as the men got ready for the day ahead. But it was the light at the far end that drew his attention.

  He suddenly felt sick to his stomach.

  What if Jo was pregnant?

  He turned and went inside the house, finding that Alma had arrived and was already flitting around the kitchen. She sniffed the contents of the coffeepot and wrinkled her nose.

  “You call this coffee?” She dumped it into the sink and started a fresh pot.

  “I made it especially for Eric,” Trace said, picking up a fork and turning a piece of bacon in a cast-iron frying pan.

  “Then it’s even better that I threw it away, in case you put poison in it.”

  Trace chuckled at the unexpected crack and lifted his mug. “We’d both be drinking it.”

  She took the mug and sent the contents down the sink.

  His gaze went to the empty doorway. “He up yet?”

  “Who?”

  Trace stared at her.

  “I passed him coming in. He said he wanted to check on the stables, and would be returning for breakfast.”

  Trace uttered a string of profanities and stalked toward the door.

  “Wait! Take some coffee for you both.”

  “The hell with coffee.”

  Trace reached the stable offices in no time flat, his blood rising at the sight of his brother sitting in his chair, his booted feet up on the desk as he went through the folders stacked in front of him. Trace flung the door open and glared at him.

  “What in the hell are you doing?”

  Eric slowly removed his feet from the desk and sat up before answering. “Well, good morning to you, too, lil’ bro.”

  Trace crossed the office and took the folders from his hands. “My name is Trace. And if it’s just the same to you, I’d prefer you call me that. Not just in front of the ranch hands, but always.”

  “Whoa. Who put the hornets’ nest in your pillowcase?” Eric held up his hands and slowly stood. “I didn’t mean any harm. I just thought it would be a good idea if I got caught up a little before things get too busy this morning.”

  “Yes, well, you could have started with me.”

  “I didn’t know you were up.”

  “Bullshit, you didn’t. You had to pass my open bedroom door when you walked down the hall.”

  Given the way Eric looked down, Trace knew he had him.

  His brother crossed his arms and shook his head. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you, lil’…Trace?”

  “Good morning!” Miss Dorie trilled cheerfully as she came in with the box of doughnuts she brought in for the guys every morning.

  Trace didn’t take his gaze off his brother. And Eric didn’t look away from him.

  “Oh. Well, I guess maybe it’s not all that good.” She made a face. “I’ll just, um, go to my office. Where I’ll be in case either of you needs anything.”

  She exited Trace’s office and went into her own, on the other side of the glass wall.

  “You could have said good morning,” Eric admonished.

  Trace narrowed his eyes. “You could have, as well.”

  Eric sighed and uncrossed his arms. “What is it you want, Trace? To go out back with dueling pistols and count out ten paces at dawn?”

  “Only if I wouldn’t be charged with murder.”

  His brother raised his brows. “And I thought war was tough.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t know, because you interfered there, as well, didn’t you?”

  “Are you saying I’m interfering here?”

  “Ah, now you’re finally beginning to get it.”

  Eric stared at him for a long moment, fingered some papers on the desk and then slowly sauntered toward the door. He paused next to Trace and leaned closer.

  “I own half this ranch, Trace. Not forty-nine percent. Half.”

  Trace fisted his hands at his sides, aching to take a swing at him.

  “Now that I’m home, it’s time you finally accepted that fact.”

  “And perhaps it’s long past time you accepted the fact that it is half that you own. Not fifty-one percent. Half. And that being older than me doesn’t make you any more entitled.”

  Eric hesitated for a moment and then left the room, taking away any chance for Trace to release the anger growing in him.

  JO STOOD FOR A LONG TIME in front of the bathroom mirror, considering her body. She’d played and worked hard all her life so she’d never had to worry about gaining weight. But neither had her mother when she was younger. So body image was always tucked away somewhere in Jo’s mind, and if she detected even one extra pound, she hurried to shed it by going through the day with little nourishment.

  But she couldn’t do that if she was pregnant.

  The thought made her throat tighten as she turned to the side. Her period always came at the first quarter moon, which was in the next few days. So she was probably already retaining a little water…

  She rolled her eyes and left the bathroom. A woman didn’t put on weight the instant she was pregnant. Did she?

  Jo snatched up her riding gloves and hat from the dresser and headed for the door. How could she have been so stupid last night? How could she have not only allowed unprotected sex, but instigated it? She had never given a second thought to having children. The mere idea of being pregnant with one…

  Sweet Jesus.

  She closed the door after her and locked it, heading down the narrow porch toward the other hands. There was no sense in worrying about it now, anyhow. She’d find out soon enough.

  An image of Trace’s handsome face sprang to mind as he’d held himself above her the night before, the big Texas night sky a blue velvet, star-speckled canvas behind him. He was so much of a kid himself. Oh, not in any physical way. He was one hundred percent adult male in that regard. But emotionally, he still had some growing up to do.

  She thought of her own emotional state and winced. When was the last time she’d been in a solid relationship? Never, she realized. She hadn’t gone to her own high school prom, had never really dated the way her girlfriends had. She’d begun working part-time at local ranches while she was still in school, and personal relationships were defined by how much truck-cab time she and whatever guy had caught her fancy could put in. Then she’d enlisted in the military.

  There simply hadn’t been time for a relationship.

  Who was she kidding? She wasn’t any more mature than Trace, when all was said and done. No matter where they were, chronologically speaking, they both towed baggage the size of San Antonio behind them.

  Oh, God, what if she was pregnant?

  “Atchison?” Vern’s curt call jerked her from her reverie as she stood in the middle of the sidewalk.

  The men had already climbed in the back of the two trucks that would take them to the stables to saddle up.

  “Coming, Boss,” she called out, pushing her worries aside. There would be time to pick up where she left off later.

  Chapter Twelve

  TRACE DECIDED TO GO OUT with the guys on the daily run. He’d spent two days at the office, and that alone would have been enough to drive him to the range. But with Eric back and invading his space, he needed to put some physical distance between him and his brother before, well, before things turned physical.

  It had been a good long time since he’d hit his brother. But, by God, all it would take was one foul look from Eric and he’d be hard-pressed not to haul off and slug him one.

  Overall, the long, hot day proved to ease the tension from
his shoulders. But as one concern dropped back, another stepped forward.

  As the run wound up and they made their way back to the corral, Trace found his gaze trailing to Jo yet again.

  He told himself to be cautious. Anyone watching would surely pick up on the connection between them. But Trace couldn’t help himself. He saw her dark hair and thought of the shadows of her body last night as he lay over her, bringing her to orgasm under the open night sky. He watched her squeeze her thighs against her mare now, and remembered how she had tightened her legs against his shoulders. He caught a glimpse of her full mouth and recalled kissing her again and again and again.

  And if he looked at her flat abdomen a little too often, he told himself it was only natural.

  When the herd was halfway into the pen for the night, he aimed Crockett toward her.

  “We need to talk,” he muttered.

  She readjusted her gloves. “Why?”

  He gave her a knowing look. “We need to talk about last night and…”

  She lifted a brow.

  “And…you know.”

  An inscrutable expression transformed her face, making it impossible for him to tell what she was thinking. “No, I’m sorry, Trace, I don’t know. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d better be getting to the stables before someone sees you talking to me.”

  She pulled her horse to the right and trotted off.

  Damn.

  “Boss, something wrong?” Vern asked, coming up beside him.

  “Huh?” He shook his head. “No. No, nothing’s wrong.” He squeezed his knees against Crockett’s sides. “Let’s put these puppies to bed and grab some grub.”

  AS HE FEARED, by the time Trace pulled up to the stables, Jo was long gone, out on the first truck back to the bunkhouses. Maybe he’d hike out there sometime later, when no one was paying attention to his whereabouts.

  Trace dismounted and handed Crockett off to a stable hand, giving the horse a pat for a job well done. He was looking forward to a long, cold shower and seeing what Alma had fixed for his dinner.