Читать книгу Purely Sexual - Delta Dupree - Страница 7

The forty-five minute drive to the ranch cabin was far from silent at first. Fontana had tried without success to learn about her past. Challie figured he’d gotten tired of her one-word answers. The majority of those were fibs, as long as she hadn’t stared into his eyes. He’d finally turned on the radio. She didn’t like him or his loud, clanging music. By the time the oversized blue tank stopped, the blaring noise had intensified her headache. Compounding the beating, she’d needed a ladder to climb into the seat. Climbing out wouldn’t be any easier. Fontana had said to use the “running” board. Not knowing what he meant, Challie said she hadn’t packed one because she had no reason to run anywhere. The man’s burst of raucous laughter had gotten on her nerves, the beginning of her headache.

“Do you like animals? Dogs?” Fontana asked. Several trotted across the gravel, barking incessantly.

“Yes.” She feared few creatures. The bigger, the better. They were easier to see and hear.

“There’s only one you’ll have to watch out for. Hank, leader of the pack,” he said, pointing to a big black hound. “He’s mostly bark, but he lies in wait under the porches, growling to intimidate the fearful. Dogs smell fear.”

Suddenly, five black-and-white balls of fur tottered toward the vehicle. Challie opened the door and slid from the tall seat, crooning. Every adult hound and cute puppy nuzzled her hand for pets. Even Hank, wagging his long tail, growled his way into the pack. The puppies parted for their sovereign leader. Dropping to his haunches, he rolled to his back for greedy attention. But the one animal that truly caught her eye was a brown and black mongrel. Timid, he was uglier than a monitor lizard but sweet, with smiling brown eyes.

“Ike the Swinger, the ugliest hound around, with his tongue constantly hanging out the side of his mouth,” Fontana said.

Challie straightened. “Swinger?”

“He’s always in trouble for chasing the horses, swinging by their tails. I’m surprised he’s still here. Dogs come and go like ranch hands.” He glanced around the premises. “Looks like no one’s home. You’ll meet the foreman, Charlie Lawson, but stay away from him. The man drinks like a fish, gets belligerent sometimes. He lives in a cabin down by Bloody Dick.”

Huh? “Say again?” she asked, embarrassed.

His devilish chuckle rumbled through her body. “Local legend says Richard, an English trapper, lived up the creek back in the old days. He cursed a lot. Everything was ‘Bloody this, bloody that.’ So, people called him Bloody Dick. The creek was named after him.”

“Oh.” She looked down at the ground because he continued staring at her.

“Paul’s son, Ray, should be somewhere nearby, or maybe he’s out in the pasture. He’s married. Got two little girls.”

Knowing another woman lived close by lifted her sagging spirits.

“You won’t meet the family this trip unless they come back from Washington early. Usually they stay until school starts.”

And Challie’s spirits settled back into darkness.

When Fontana pointed to the large house directly in front of them, Challie sighed. Another mansion to clean behind a man living alone. Ugh. Maybe his wife had taught him something about hygiene and filth before she left. Or maybe they had a maid of their own.

“Ray’s place. Brand new, built last year. I’ll have to ask him to give you a tour. It’s sweet inside, but I miss the original farmhouse. In fact, I’ll always see it standing here. Gave this place character. We’re not staying there.”

She looked over her shoulder. Grimaced. The little hut-style log building reminded her of the pictures she’d seen of the Old West. Was this where they would be staying? It was smaller than Hattie’s apartment. Where was she supposed to sleep, on the floor? It still beat bedding down on dirt and rocks with the animals, even when she thought she’d never have to sleep on anything other than comfortable mattresses again.

“Bunkhouse,” Fontana said. “Hired hands sleep there sometimes. We’ll stay in the old foreman’s cabin over there. Four bedrooms, kitchen, living room. Only one bathroom, though.”

Thank God.

Not wanting or needing his help, she grabbed her tattered, brown suitcase from the backseat before he got hold of it. She went around the blue tank. Challie stopped dead. The buzzing sound was loud, all around the yard.

Shrieking, she backed away. “Nyuki!”

“What?”

“I mean, bees. Big bees.”

Her aunt had warned her of these killers. Swarms had moved into many areas of Arizona. They were relentless stingers, according to Hattie. Removing colonies required expertise. The Tedescos had hired professionals. Challie was fast on her feet, but these easily angered creatures were said to chase intruders longer than she cared to run at top speed.

“Haven’t you ever seen hummingbirds before? They’re harmless.”

Birds? “Oh. Oh,” she said, panting, trying to slow her racing heart. She hurried toward the porch anyway.

Surprisingly, Fontana showed one gentleman’s quality, probably the only one he had. He held the screen door open for her, but when Challie stepped inside the house, the sight brought her up short. The suitcase slipped from her hand, landing with a noisy thud.

“Kind of funky, huh?” Fontana said.

Funky? Dust and cobwebs were everywhere. Somebody had covered the furniture with bed sheets. She’d have to wash them twice to clean the dirt from the linens. Was there a clothes washer in this place? Or a stream nearby? A scrub board?

Filth and oily grime layered thick on windows. The linoleum floor needed scouring. The kitchen, which she could see from here, was worse than the oldest hut’s nastiness. When a mouse scampered past, Challie gasped an air tank worth of stale oxygen. It hid under the refrigerator. She hated mice, hated anything creepy-crawly. Whoever had stayed here last hadn’t cleaned at all with these tiny beasts making a home.

“We need a cat,” she heard that man say from behind her.

What they needed was a new cabin. She picked up her suitcase, whirled around and started for the door.

“Where’re you going?”

“Home.”

“Home? You can’t. We’re forty-some miles from nowhere. The plane is headed back to Scottsdale.”

“I’ll walk. Hate mice.”

“Challie,” he said, grabbing her arm. A tug-o’-war for her suitcase resulted, but he finally gained possession and set it beside the couch. “I’ll get a cat from somewhere. From town or a neighbor.”

“Hate filth too.”

“Then I’ll help clean. You can’t leave.”

Help? He had gorgeous, begging eyes, the same look in them when he wanted to sleep with a woman. She’d seen the gigolo on the prowl before, only this time he needed a woman to clean for him. Servitude. When they wanted something, they always begged. Men.

Well, she’d promised Hattie, being how she supervised all household workers—maids, chef, Tupa, temporary employees—that she would do the job to perfection. Challie started back toward the couch. She picked up her suitcase when another rodent skittered by her feet. Screeching, she backed into the beggar, who held her a little too tightly. Blazing heat from his body penetrated every molecule she owned personally. She tried to wiggle free. Forget the mouse. Something really hard pressed against her bottom.

“Stop wiggling.”

“Let me go and I will.”

When he released her, Challie spun around, stared down at…surely not. The bulge strained against his jeans. She looked up into his eyes, witnessed…lust? Stepping back, she stared down at his jeans again. Goodness. Had she caused his man-thing to swell?

“Sorry,” he said, grinning, pumping his eyebrows. “The wiggling.”

Lordy. Biggest thingy she’d ever seen. Of course, she’d only seen one, long ago on her twenty-fifth birthday—four years in the past. Big mistake, too. If sex was supposed to be good, and her first encounter was good, well, she could do without, which was exactly what she’d done. She’d satisfied her curiosity. Man-things were like snakes, slithering and slick. She hated snakes as much as she hated mice. But this one…this python would rip her straight up the middle, tickle her tonsils, maybe strangle her if it got inside her body. Throbbing. Slick. Slithering.

Blood raced through her arteries, opening every pore in her body. Breathing had become a real problem. Belly tingling, wetness dampening her panties caught her by surprise. She had the urge to pee, thought she had when her body caved in to a violent shudder.

“Wapi…I mean, where’s the bathroom?” Good Lord. Every time her emotions turned topsy-turvy, she’d slip into her native tongue. She needed to think before she spoke.

“Through there,” Fontana said, pointing down the hallway behind her. “On the right.”

He wore an unsettling grin on his face. Could he tell what had happened to her? Thank God, she’d worn a skirt, except she hadn’t felt wetness running down her legs.

Challie turned on her heels. She walked away stiffly, trying to keep her knees from buckling and her dignity intact.

Donnie chuckled. Her hips swayed gently. Women didn’t bust a nut just staring at his cock, not when he hadn’t touched her intimately. But a bizarre expression had etched across her face, followed by a tremor charging through her body. He’d scarcely heard her whimper. How did she manage to keep so quiet?

The body contact had affected him too. He ran his hand down the length of his erection. Aching after touching a woman’s ass, Duke needed release. Bad. Thirty-three years old and he couldn’t keep his libido under control. Hell, the man upstairs had given the rod to him for fucking. He’d put it to good use.

He pulled out several foil packages from his pocket. They stole away sensitivity, but confirmed bachelors had to keep the little DNA guys out of coed pools. Donnie stuffed the packages back into his pocket for safekeeping until Challie finished all her cleaning.

Once they finished all of the cleaning.

Duke went limp as a half-cooked noodle. Why the hell did he volunteer? Cleaning was women’s work, the very reason he’d hired a maid service to clean his condo, the same reason he ate in restaurants, except for grilling an occasional burger or two while in Montana.

A bloodcurdling scream broke the reverie. Donnie ran down the hall, banged on the bathroom door and jiggled the knob. “Unlock the door, Challie.”

When it didn’t open soon enough, he rammed his shoulder against it. Didn’t take much effort. He moved in behind her. Absorbing a bit of her body heat jolted Duke. Damn. What was it about this woman? Moving closer, an arc of electricity shot between them. Did she feel it? Apparently not. She pointed to the tub. Dead mouse and dead insects, primarily spiders. He had to admit the bathroom was a filthy son of a bitch.

“I’m leaving.” She shoved past him.

“Wait. I’ll clean it. Sterilize it. First thing.”

She came to a stop, kept her back to him. “Toilet, sink, counter, floor?”

“I’ll clean it all. You can do an inspection when I’m finished. If it doesn’t meet your standards, I’ll clean until you approve. Stay. Please?”

He couldn’t let her leave. They had to get married, consummate the union to keep him out of jail. He needed a piece of ass too. Hers, after watching those hips, perfect rounded hips attached to a plump ass.

Shoulders dropping, she turned and said, “I’ll clean the kitchen while you deal with this mess. I hate cleaning bathrooms, especially after men.”

It was the lengthiest set of words she’d ever spoken to him. She had a hell of a sexy voice. Deep. Throaty. With an accent from somewhere. She also had a familiar smile he couldn’t quite place. In fact, this was the first time he’d really looked at her face. Her wide smile produced two eye-catching dimples. Why hadn’t he noticed them before?

Duh. She’d never smiled at him, had avoided him like a nasty virus ever since the first time he’d seen her at the mansion; on her knees, scrubbing the marble floor, butt tooted straight up in the air. Instant hard-on.

“Paul said we’d need some supplies. As filthy as this place is, I can’t imagine anybody wiped out all the cleansers.”

“Maybe I can find something.”

Donnie followed her to the kitchen. When she bent over, Duke rewarded her with a standing acknowledgment.

Oh, yeah. He could drive it home on this prime behind. Forget restraint. He was tempted to hike the flimsy skirt up to her waist. He’d have to go easy. He was big, long and thick. A woman’s snatch had to be soaking wet before he plowed into her. Surely, this lady was ready for him after the first nut breaker, quiet as she was. Broads contained their lusty shouts better than he could; Donnie had a healthy set of lungs.

“What do you need?” Challie asked. She removed items from the lower cabinet.

You. He realized he’d stroked Duke into a fine frenzy. Swallowing, he said, “Everything. The works.” Damn. He wanted to fuck her right here, bend her over the counter and work Ms. Smith with surefire finesse.

Hold up. Back off, bud. Get control of yourself.

He’d never let a woman get him so riled. Too much pressure. He knew his screwing days were cut short.

“Can you find a bucket somewhere?”

One big enough to hold his juice if he didn’t get away from her. “I’ll see.” Donnie turned his back before she saw Duke flaring up.

Two hours later, Donnie came out of the bathroom madder than hell.

After unloading the Jeep Cherokee of supplies, he had to clean the funk some jackass had left behind. Goddamn hunters were nasty bastards. He’d remember this every time he used the commode. Seat up, aiming straighter.

He went around the corner into the kitchen. Challie stood on the counter, barefoot, wearing loose red shorts and a matching little top while wiping down cabinets.

Anger dissolving, he moved toward her. Duke went on the rise again seeing a pair of shapely, naked legs attached to her meaty ass. Metal detectors had nothing on his cock. Every time he laid his eyes on this woman’s butt, his cock was lured forward.

She had small feet, slim ankles, well-developed calves. Muscled thighs looked strong enough to squeeze the breath from his body. All tempted him to run his fingers up her leg to the juncture waiting for his immediate thrust.

Bet she has a tight-assed sexpot as strong as her thighs.

He barely touched the back of her knee, but she shrieked. Spinning around, she lost her balance. Challie toppled right into his arms. Hell, she couldn’t weigh more than a hundred and ten pounds, but the woman had two hundred decibels worth of outraged scream.

“Put me down!”

Donnie slid her down his body in major contact. No way would Duke’s reaction go unnoticed. “What would you have done if I wasn’t here to catch you?” he snapped, settling his hands at his waist.

She stepped back, bumped into the cabinet. “I’d still be standing on the counter,” she shouted. She had both fists balled up tight, glued to her hips. “What were you doing sneaking up behind me? I hate sneaking.”

Well, shit. Busted. “I wasn’t sneaking.”

“If you weren’t, I would’ve heard you coming.”

She shoved at his chest harder than he expected, but Donnie managed to hold his ground. “And?” he said, flattening his hands on the counter, boxing her in.

No way he’d let her sidestep him. She sucked in air when their bodies made connection, his throbbing cock in vibrant contact with her belly. Duke had reared up proud, vibrating.

Donnie dipped, rubbed his cock down to the tip of her heat and back up again. When Challie shivered, he caught her lips in a devouring kiss.