Читать книгу Purely Sexual - Delta Dupree - Страница 10

Ten minutes later, Donnie bumped into the foreman outside the bunkhouse’s front door.

“Thought I saw me a new SUV out back,” Charlie Lawson said. The man had a hell of a grip shaking hands, tight enough to make a grown man drop to his knees. “How ya doin’, hombre? Ray said you were vacationin’ up here.”

Lawson sported the thickest mustache on the planet magnified by a square jaw. His eyes were darker than the cheap whiskey he drank—not yet bloodshot today—but Donnie smelled liquor on the foreman’s breath, even with a smoldering cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. The paunch belly had grown.

“Can’t complain,” Donnie replied. “How about you? Tamed any broncs lately? Still doing the rodeo circuit?”

Lawson sucked hard off the cigarette butt. He flicked the burning remains to the ground, stubbed it out under the heel of his dusty boot. One long, steady stream of hazy gray blasted from his nostrils. “Not so much no more. Steer caught the leg durin’ the rodeo last year.”

Labor Day was advertised as “Montana’s Biggest Weekend.” Technically, it was the Beaverhead County Fair and the Dillon Rodeo. The auction was officially 4-H. Ray bought one or two animals from local kids annually.

When they started across the gravel, Donnie noticed the cowboy favored his right leg.

“What brings you this far north? Fishin’? Bloody Dick’s runnin’ high this year. So’s Trail Crick. Caught a mess of brookies the other day. Thinkin’ about an overnight up there by Dad’s Lake. You up for it?”

This guy had caught the largest trout on the prairie. Hell of a fly fisherman. Funny thing was he never ate his catch. Whenever Paul was on site planning fish fries for parties, he called Lawson—the meat and potatoes man of Horse Prairie.

“I’ll think about.” Donnie wondered whether Challie had ever fished. “Couple of Paul’s friends coming in.”

Lawson grunted. He pulled the pack of Marlboros from his shirt pocket, lit another cigarette. Smoked like a chimney, drank like a whale.

“Where’s Ray? We haven’t seen him since we got in.”

Eyebrows lifting, Lawson stared at their cabin, squinting, then back at Donnie. “S’pose he’s pickin’ up supplies and shit, pissin’ aroun’ town.”

Ray and Lawson weren’t the best of friends. Both had issues Donnie would just as soon avoid rather than ask questions. “Anybody around who might have a spare cat? Rodents are trying to take over in there.”

“Mice thick as flies on cowshit this season. Think they scared off the black and whites.” As in skunk. Those and badgers were fierce creatures. “But all them damn cats we had, I…Check deaf Ross. That pretty little filly of his keeps a few.”

Just then, someone honked. “Vamonos, amigo!”

“Eduardo,” Lawson said. “Good, hard worker. Guess it’s time to git along, little doggie.” He’d have swaggered if he hadn’t screwed up his leg.

Since Challie was bathing and sure to use all the hot water during another shower, Donnie made a quick trip to the neighbors living a few miles downwind.

Lawson was right.

“Thanks, Mr. Ross,” Donnie yelled. The old codger couldn’t hear a bomb detonate across the road.

“Anytime. Damn cats multiply worse than rabbits. Good mouser, that one. She’ll clear ’em out for ya if you keep her inside.” Ross had more wrinkles than prunes. A roadmap of blue veins stretched across translucent skin. He’d lived on this ranch most of his life. “Gonna be up here a while? The kitty litter oughta hold you a few weeks.”

“Maybe. Got time off for good behavior.” And all depended on his proposal, the wedding plans, plus all other stupid shit associated with the supposed big day.

“Well, if ya need anything else, just you holler. And feed the furball table scraps when she run outta mice. The granddaughter don’t feed ’em no store-bought food. Keeps ’em healthy.”

As the screen door closed, Donnie held the Manx mix in the air. Challie was going to like the tuxedo it wore. Tuxedo. Good name if her new mistress thought so. He tossed the “furball” on the backseat.

By the time he reached the curve leading to the foreman’s house, he knew something was wrong. Way wrong.

Donnie sped beyond the graveled lane, slammed on the brakes, filling the air thick with dust, but the gentle breeze whisked it downwind. He swaggered back toward Challie. Marching, suitcase in hand, she ignored him.

He caught hold of her wildly swinging arm, drew her back to face him. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Leaving.” She was headed straight into the mountains. Toward Idaho.

“Why?”

With shaded eyes of a raging storm, she said, “You left me alone in that place. Mice everywhere. Hate mice.”

God, she really despised the vermin. “I picked up a cat just for you. Come back with me. Old man Ross said she’d clear them out. If not I’ll go into town for traps, and I’ll take you with me.”

Damn it, she couldn’t leave. Sure as shit, some local yokel would give her a lift, maybe as far as Butte. She had no business riding with strangers, particularly cowboys.

He tried to take her luggage. She wouldn’t give it up.

“Challie.” He stepped closer, ran his fingers down her arm, enjoying the feel of her smooth skin. “I promise.”

She seemed to think about it. “You’ll move the furniture, sweep all the floors? Make sure they’re not hiding?”

“Yes. Anything.” He could almost see her brain working.

“What about the throw rugs? They’ve been crawling on them.”

He let out a long, exasperated sigh. “I’ll beat the hell out of them with the broom. Outside.”

She didn’t answer right away. Finally, she said, “All right.”

She handed him her suitcase. Donnie tossed it in the backseat. He wouldn’t have minded helping her inside the Jeep, getting a free feel in the process, but she remembered the running board.

As he climbed behind the wheel, the cat crawled between them into Challie’s lap, purring louder than the SUV’s engine. “What a pretty kitty.”

Any other woman he knew would bitch about cat fur attaching to their designer clothes or jacking with their allergies. Not this one. Challie stroked the animal with loving care.

“How about calling her Tuxedo?”

“It fits,” she replied, nuzzling the “pretty kitty” like a long-lost pet.

Now, if he could just get her to stroke him with a little tender loving care again. He’d purr louder than the damn cat. Donnie chuckled to himself. Or raise the roof with a lion’s conquering roar.

At the house, she fed Tuxedo a snack first, chopped her food into fine pieces and served it in a glass bowl. Afterward, she made Donnie’s pastrami sandwich, added a side of chips and one peewee dill pickle. On a flimsy paper plate. Challie ate less than Tuxedo. Off a real plate. Ike showed up for a shared snack.

While Donnie moved furniture and dragged rugs outside for a good beating, she dusted, gathered linens, washed windows and ignored him. At last, she asked for his help. She’d never reach the vaulted ceiling’s cobwebs, even with a broom. He’d worked up a real sweat today.

As Donnie swaggered down the hall, moving on to the last bedroom, Tuxedo darted past him.

The piercing scream that tore through the cabin froze the blood in his veins. He damn near broke a leg on the living room chair. Challie stood on the counter, dancing a little in place, pointing at the rodent clamped between Tuxedo’s teeth. Apparently, the cat’s new mistress wasn’t too happy about her pet’s first show-and-tell session.

Smiling, Donnie hoisted Challie down. He carried her into his bedroom and sat until the mouse was set free for a little playtime. Or eaten. Hopefully, the latter. Legs curled beneath her, Challie stayed on his lap.

Duke jumped hard again. Donnie had one hell of a time believing he still carried the all-too-wholesome sexual urge. He should be too beat for sex. Who would’ve thought he’d ever work this hard? Manual labor wasn’t his style. Cleaning house was supposed to be a woman’s natural job.

“Why did she bring that filthy creature into my kitchen?”

To share, or to show mama her prize. “She’s trying to make you happy.” He smoothed a hand over her thigh, sneaked his fingers between them, attempting to make her happy in his own way.

“Bad cat!” Challie snapped when Tuxedo sauntered into the room, sat primly and licked her white paws clean.

Obviously, she wasn’t interested in Donnie’s subtle ministrations. She kept him in a constant state of arousal and he thought by now she’d be begging him to plug her.

By nightfall the cabin was spotless.

Challie had washed the linens and together they’d hung them out to dry. She remade all the beds after Donnie dragged the twin mattresses outside for airing. She insisted he beat them with the broom handle first.

For dinner, she’d roasted chicken—his favorite—and served creamy mashed potatoes with the best damn gravy he’d ever had. She was a dynamite cook with a dynamite snatch to boot. While she washed dishes, he dried and put them away, figuring the more time he spent with her, the more she’d want him. With several full nights left without another soul in the cabin, the place clean and a cat to take care of the dreaded mice, they had plenty of time to spend in bed together. Tired or not, he planned to make good use of their solitude. All she had to do was ask. He’d give her everything she wanted, plus some. Tonight, they’d burn up the sheets until daybreak.

“It’s been a long day,” Challie said. “I’m going to bed. Good night.” She scooped up Tuxedo, sauntered down the hall. Not to his bedroom. To hers.

Good night? Donnie chewed on that piece of fat. He’d make her beg now. Tease the hell out of her. He knew this game too well. If she thought he’d go after her, he had news for Ms. Smith. No way, even if a hard-on killed him while he waited.

Needing a shower as frigid as a Montana winter, Donnie trudged into the bathroom.

Challie sat on the bed, staring outside the single window into the dark night, and swallowed. Her imagination had always run amok. She remembered the many pairs of gleaming yellow eyes, the sounds of thrashing, marauding, the vivid screams. Wild animals prowled in Montana too. Very few people lived in the vicinity to chase them away. She snapped the shades closed. Fear bred more fear.

She stripped out of her clothes. Hattie had bought her two floor-length cotton gowns for this trip. They were much softer than the old, static-clinging nylon pajamas Hattie had given her when she arrived. Any type of pajamas was a luxury Challie had never enjoyed until moving to the United States. She’d slept naked most of her life, or fully clothed if Papa had ordered, prepared to make an escape if tensions reached a volatile degree. Shivering, she discarded the undesirable memories and hung her clothes in the small closet, then switched off the overhead light. The cute antique lamp provided soft glowing illumination.

Today, she’d aired out the cabin of its stale odors, but the night air was chilly after the warm day, much cooler than her homeland’s sweltering nights, even cooler than nighttime Arizona. She drew the heavy blanket up to her waist, snuggled under the clean sheet, smelling its fresh scent.

The cabin was quiet except for Tuxedo’s constant purring. She perched on the bedside table until Challie switched off the lamp. Tuxedo tiptoed across the pillow and curled up close to her back.

Lifting her hand, Challie only imagined seeing her fingers. There was nothing to fear from darkness when life in her village was so much scarier. Candlelight had done little to illuminate the small room she shared with Grandmama in the shanty. Shadows had danced on the walls. Warfare and killers had owned the streets.

Here, only she and Fontana were in the cabin anyway. What if something terrible happened? Who would know? What if a lion broke through a window while they slept? Or a wild band of monkeys? Who would help them? She shuddered at the images she’d had since childhood.

Then, howling split the quiet night. Challie scrambled out of bed, snatched up Tuxedo and hurried out of the room.

He knew it.

Donnie knew she’d come begging him to plug her. He smiled, hearing Challie’s rap at his bedroom door, and turned on the lamp.

“Come in.”

She peeked inside, clutching Tuxedo. Where did she shop for clothes and lingerie? Hadn’t anybody mentioned sexiness to her? Victoria’s Secret? Frederick’s? Damn.

“Something is howling outside.”

“Coyotes.”

She took a tentative step. “Can we sleep in here? I hate howling.”

Name one thing you don’t hate.

Donnie yanked the sheet back. Women were so coy sometimes. She wanted him and was too afraid to admit it. The games people play.

“Tuxedo can sleep between us.”

Like hell. “Tuxedo needs to sleep on the floor to catch the mice,” Donnie replied, knowing she’d agree hearing the plural of the critters.

“She didn’t eat them all?”

“Not a chance.” He chuckled when she dropped the cat and charged toward the bed.

Keeping to the edge of the mattress, she pulled the sheet up to her chin. “Can they climb up here?”

The right answer would keep her right up under him. “Maybe.”

“I’m getting my clothes on. In fact, I’m sleeping in your tank.”

Donnie dragged her across the bed and into his arms. “Tuxedo won’t let them.”

Damn, she smelled good enough to eat. She’d wasted more water after dinner bathing. Without him. But her skin wasn’t wrinkled or dry or cracked. How many baths did a person need every day?

Draping his heavy leg between her thighs, he pinned her to the mattress, cuffed her wrists, lifted her arms above her head and pinned them together with one hand. He dragged her gown’s hem above her breasts.

Duke bounced against her leg for two beats then reared up toward the object of his search, poised, in striking distance.

The look in Challie’s eyes was palpable.

Beg. You get nothing until you beg. Drawn to her heat, he pressed the head of his cock to the edge of her fire.

“This is a bad idea,” she said. “I’ve made two too many mistakes in my life. I shouldn’t make another one.”

Like hell. Sex with me is not in error. He delved his tongue into her ear. She squirmed, legs moving restlessly. She was one minute from begging. He knew it. God, please, not a second more.

Her wiggling set off new sensations. Donnie ached to get inside her. He bit a path down the tendon of her neck, moved farther and latched onto her nipple, sucking noisily, teasing her with his teeth.

“Stop it.”

Not a chance. She vibrated against his skin. He wanted her to beg, wanted to fill her, but when he lifted his hips to settle between her legs, she clamped both tightly around his thigh.

“One more time,” Donnie whispered. “Just once. I won’t hurt you.”

“But, I don’t know—”

He kissed her silent, thoroughly, and her legs lost their grip. As Donnie moved up, over and forward, they fell open like petals of a flower.

He eased into her heat, anticipating the intoxicating pleasure to come. She was wet, not soaking, but enough for him to make her wetter. If he held back, let her take the lead, she’d work him.

Sliding out, Donnie rolled to his side, taking Challie with him.