Wargasm Page 5

  Gretchen huffed, teasing the long grass between her fingers. “I’m trying to be the world’s best daughter.”

  “By seducing me?”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh, I’m seducing you?”

  “Doing a good job of it.”

  “You offer me no real conversation, hardly any foreplay, and now I’m the one responsible for getting you in bed? Seems like a raw deal.”

  “If you want raw, you got it.”

  “I told you. I’m here to visit the farm.”

  She was gorgeous and she had a sense of humor. A rumbling laugh seized me. But I’d forgotten how to do it. Figured I’d have to teach myself to laugh again, then I’d have to learn how to fuck with one leg. At least Gretchen provided training for both exercises.

  “Why the fuck are you here for the farm?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “Maybe I came to gawk at the animals.”

  “At this petting zoo, only the first ride is free.”

  She wasn’t impressed. “Like I’d trust you. You’re the kind of animal that bites.”

  “That should excite you.”

  She tried to threaten me. Couldn’t. But it was cute nevertheless. “I’m an animal control officer. Snap at me just once, and I’ll muzzle you.”

  “My bite’s worse than my bark. And the rest of me is even tougher.”

  “Then I’ll be on guard while I tour your facilities.”

  I gestured around what used to be and still was a jarring reminder of my childhood. “What facilities?”

  When my father needed to make a choice between the farm and the family, the land always came first. He paid more attention to soil quality and rain clouds than his five sons and adopted daughter fighting for his approval. Crops were life. The farm was everything. And he’d made the decision long ago that it was Julian who would take his place. And what happened?

  Fires. Cancer. Heart problems.

  The barn was destroyed first. Didn’t matter how it burned down, but it had started everything. The fighting and the frustrations. Then mom died. Dad never recovered. Stopped growing crops. Stopped maintenance on the farm. Once he got sick, we had no other options. After he was gone, the land hung over our heads. Julian’s problem, but now he depended on us to get the farm operational again.

  Which meant I was once again hiding out in the back fields, avoiding the responsibilities, family, and truth.

  And yet Gretchen glanced over the farm as if she actually liked the rolling grasses, quiet pastures, and demonic animals roaming in and out of the barn.

  “Micah invited me,” she said.

  Micah. Julian’s soon-to-be wife and mother of his yet-to-be-born son. Seemed like something she would do. She was the only woman not only crazy enough to fall in love with my oldest brother, but just optimistic enough to think the farm might work. The alpaca was her handiwork. A slippery plot to work around current zoning laws and expedite the rebuilding of the barn as an “animal sanctuary.”

  It made no sense to me. “What do you think you’re gonna find here?”

  Gretchen met my gaze. “A wedding.”

  I laughed. “I’m here for a quickie. Not interested in the ball and chain.”

  “You’re breaking my heart,” she warned. “And here I thought I’d find my Prince Charming in Butterpond.”

  “Why play Princess when you can be a dirty whore?”

  “Careful, Romeo. I’m not that kind of girl.”

  “That’s what makes it so much fun.” I leaned closer. “That’s what would make it such a pleasure.”

  Gretchen baited me with a soft smile and long legs. Christ, what I would’ve done to sample the smooth darkness of her skin.

  “I’m supposed to be touring the grounds of Triumph Farm to imagine a perfect wedding venue for my father and his fiancée. They want something unique to Butterpond. Romantic. They thought the farm would be ideal.”

  “This farm is anything but ideal.”

  “And this wedding is anything but a good idea.”

  Her tone had shifted. Irritated.

  No.

  Worried.

  “Someone isn’t very happy that Daddy is getting remarried,” I said.

  Her eyebrow arched. “You haven’t been back in town for very long, have you? Ask around. I’ve got twenty-two reasons why this marriage is a bad idea, one for every year of the bride’s life.”

  “Ouch.”

  “I’m supposed to report to the bride tonight—at her bachelorette party. Just me, her, and a dozen of her closest sorority sisters.”

  “Sounds like you need a reason to escape.”

  “Can you perform a miracle?”

  I grinned. “Used up all my miracles. But my bed is a perfect place to hide.”

  She laughed. “Tell you what, Marius. I still need a date to the wedding. Come with me, and you might get lucky afterwards.”

  I was horny, but I wasn’t desperate. “I don’t do weddings.”

  “Not even to get laid?”

  “Never needed to bargain for it before.”

  “Bargain?” Her smile was bright, the cheerfulness a warmth I hadn’t felt in months. “Mr. Payne, I’m offering you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. You can bed your very own bridesmaid.”

  “Only if you let me fuck you in that hideous dress.”

  Gretchen huffed. “Chloe likes orange. Reminds her of the sunset when she first fell in love with my father.”

  “Now I get it.” I pointed at her. “You don’t want a date to the wedding. You want an excuse to leave.”

  “And you want a night with me.”

  “Night. Morning. Afternoon. Your pick.”

  “Many have tried,” she said. “Do you think you’d succeed?”

  “I don’t know how to fail.”

  “Perfect. Because I would expect it to be good.”

  “And I never disappoint.”

  “Is that a promise?”

  “What good’s a promise?” My voice hardened. So did the rest of me. “Why promise anything when you don’t know when your time’s gonna be up? No sense waiting when you can do it now.”

  She snorted. “So, I should just lay down in the grass and let you take me right here?”

  “I think that’s what you want.”

  “You don’t even know who I am.”

  “I know that you’ve never been properly fucked. And that’s a goddamned crime.”

  She nibbled on her nail. Actually considering it? I was better than I thought.

  But why wouldn’t she be interested? It was obvious the girl needed it. Bad. A beautiful smile and tight body like hers deserved more than just talking and flirting. She needed to knowhow utterly fuckable she was. How sexy, enticing, and ball-crushingly confusing she was.

  She either needed to learn not to tease or how to take it properly. I was willing to teach her both of those very important lessons.

  Gretchen attempted to stand, but I took her hand, tugging her back to the ground. She knelt before me, a petite little thing. I towered over her. Muscle upon muscle. Might have been missing some of me, but the rest was imposing. I’d made it that way. Built myself to be strong. Tough. Resilient.

  And now?

  I needed a reminder of my past strength and a reassurance for my future.

  I gave a tug of her hand, capturing her as she tumbled forward. Gretchen gasped, but I pulled her to my lips. Her pouty, soft kiss met mine.

  And that was it.

  With a single, electrifying shock, I was struck with everything I’d been missing since the accident.

  All-consuming desire.

  The adrenaline surged, coupled with a wave of aggression. Possessiveness.

  Confusion.

  Gretchen kissed me, her voice a timid whimper as she placed her hands on my chest. Not pushing. Not struggling. Her fingers tucked into my shirt and she drove her body closer to mine.

  The heat crushed my ribs, already battered by the frantic racing of my own heart. The blood pooled low. I harde
ned, desperate to move this woman over my lap, to feel her hips grind against mine, to savor every inch of her sizzling flesh against my own skin.

  I didn’t care how it would happen, what I needed to do, or how long I had to tease her.

  This woman would be mine.

  In my bed. In my arms. In my head.

  I wouldn’t rest until I had her. Wouldn’t be whole until she was tucked against my body, skin to skin, heat to heat, hip to hip. My entire life was revealed in the secret of her kiss. In the few, precious seconds her lips touched mine and her hands held me tight, I saw everything I needed in this world.

  I’d never believed in fate.

  I’d thought karma had kicked my ass.

  I’d figured my luck had been used up during the amputation.

  But every fiber of my being, what remained of my heart, and the tattered shreds of my soul told me I’d been brought back to Butterpond for a reason. My life had been spared—my life had been changed—for this moment.

  But I wasn’t a romantic. I didn’t believe in soul mates or kismet.

  But if the world it saved me so I could fuck this beautiful woman, then who was I to protest?

  Gretchen pulled away as her dog leapt between us, dropping more toys and stolen treasures for her approval. A stick, Frisbee, and a pair of Quint’s boxers landed in our laps.

  She smiled, but her voice rasped with a breathless wonder. “You’re a dangerous man, Marius Payne.”

  “I think you like that.”

  She’d never admit it. “I should go.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m not ready to fall in love with you.”

  I laughed. “Who said anything about love?”

  She stood, brushing bits of grass from shorts so tiny it was a miracle she fit that perfect ass into the denim. “Well, I’m not ready to have sex with you then.”

  “You didn’t even give me a chance.”

  “There’s a time and a place for that, sailor.”

  Yeah. The sooner the better. “How about after the bachelorette party?”

  Gretchen shook her head. “No way. You have no idea how much alcohol I need to survive a night with these girls.” She winked. “And, once it happens, I’d like to actually remember a night with you.”

  “Believe me.” I mourned the loss of her kiss with a sharp breath. “It’s not one you’ll never forget.”

  “Keep promising that, and I might have to give you a shot.”

  “I already took a bomb to the leg.” I watched her leave, those hips swaying as if to punish me. “A shot from you, sweetness? That’s a good kind of pain.”

  3

  Gretchen

  I woke up naked, hung over, and covered in the crumbs of a half-eaten grilled cheese sandwich.

  Boy howdy. Did I know how to party or what?

  My cell phone rang. And rang. And rang.

  My annoying Beyoncé ring tone wouldn’t cure a hangover. In fact, more alcohol seemed to be the only real remedy. But I’d had enough to drink last night at the bachelorette party.

  Who was I kidding? I had all of the booze at the party.

  The cell phone kept ringing. Too cruel. The sun already blasted me. The headache debilitated what the nausea did not. I didn’t even know the date, time, or what the hell happened after the other bridesmaids and I invented a new cocktail.

  Well, it wasn’t much of a cocktail. I’d swirled the remnants of every bottle left in the limo and drank until it didn’t taste bad anymore. I didn’t recommend it, but it did the job. Especially for a lightweight like me who only ever drank when she was looking to make big mistakes.

  I groped for my phone. Squinted at the screen. I couldn’t read the name, but it would only be one person. He was the only one who ever called me.

  “Hello, sunshine,” Dad said. He didn’t need to sound so chipper this early in the morning. The clock came into focus. Afternoon. “How did it go?”

  Well, I was alive. And Dad would have called me a hell of a lot sooner if Chloe hadn’t survived the night.

  “Fine.” Damn. My voice cracked. Not only did I drink the contents of the bottle, I must’ve chowed down on the glass itself. “What’s going on?”

  “Thought you could tell me.”

  I’d blacked out sometime after the stripper, unfortunately it’d come too late to avoid the story Chloe told her friends, the retelling of her first weekend away with my father.

  As a result, I’d never eat whipped cream again. Or hot fudge.

  Or strangely, lemon bars. They had always been his favorite. Now I knew why.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked. “I made sure the limo took Chloe home.”

  “You pickled my fiancée.”

  “Sorry. Didn’t realize she had a curfew.”

  Dad snorted. “Haven’t seen her this drunk since formal.”

  Jesus Christ. “Everything’s fine, Dad.”

  “Just wanted to make sure you got home okay. If she was in that state, I can only imagine the party want well.”

  Who knew? I couldn’t remember what happened last night.

  Limo. Good.

  Dinner out. Good.

  Ironfield’s finest strippers. Adequate.

  The booze. A blessing.

  “You want to tell me about the peacock feathers, or shouldn’t I bother?” Dad asked.

  I frowned. “Peacock feathers?”

  “Chloe came home with them. Figured you guys had a burlesque show or something.”

  That hadn’t been on the itinerary, but Chloe promised to give one to my father after the party.

  That was not the image I needed in my head. Ever. And yet, it would forever stay with me.

  I groaned and rolled out of the bed. What had I done with my clothes? I was an adventurous girl, up-to-and-including pink polka-dotted pajamas. Not quite stylish, but they kept a girl warm during winter when the tiny house with its tiny insulation and giant plate-glass window couldn’t keep up with the heater. In the summer, the house wasn’t too bad. Especially as a sweet breeze carried through the two hundred square-foot home.

  I peeked over the loft. The French style doors swayed in the breeze. That probably wasn’t the most secure way to spend the night naked, but what could happen in Butterpond? The only scandalous things that happened here involved my father, his college intern, and the bachelorette party that had nowhere to go in a limo we’d rented for the entire night.

  Ambrose hunkered down on the porch, snoozing in the sunlight. I whistled. He hardly raised his head. We were both late for breakfast, but he took it a little more personally.

  Dad laughed. “You’re gonna have one hell of a headache.”

  “Too late.”

  “See, I said you’d have fun with Chloe, didn’t I?” He didn’t have to sound so happy about it. “Just gotta give her a chance, sunshine.”

  Sure. I’d give the kid enough jump rope to hang herself. There was only one reason a twenty-two-year-old girl would chase after a fifty-eight-year-old man.

  But my father didn’t realize that. I frowned. “We did have fun.”

  Dad hummed. “Told you. You should listen to your old man.”

  I poured Ambrose some kibbles into his bowl. With a lazy yawn and shake of his head, he stalked his way to the door. I stared at his feet and tried to remember what the hell we’d done to the poor critter.

  “My dog’s toenails are pink,” I said.

  “Sounds fashionable.” Dad chuckled. “Did Ambrose have a good night too?”

  He must’ve. He wore a tie. Orange. It clashed with the Barbie pink nail polish. Then again, who was I to critique his ensemble? I’d only wrapped myself in a robe.

  “Did we see you last night?” I asked.

  Dad snorted. “Believe me, sunshine. I wish I could’ve seen you last night. I would have taken some great photos of that drunken excursion. Something to show at your wedding.”

  Yeah right. Because I had so many prospects kneeling before me with rings. “So, why is
my dog wearing a tie?”

  Dad cleared his throat. “Better than a G string?”

  The strippers took those with them. I frowned, crashing on my bench, which also happened to be my sofa, dining room chairs, and general storage in the tiny house. Strange that two square feet of cottage could get me into such trouble.

  “Gretchen,” dad asked. “You’re an adult. And it’s none of my business. But did you go home alone last night?”

  My dog was wearing a man’s tie.

  My front door was wide open.

  The remnants of a grilled cheese sandwich rested on my two-burner stove.

  Two wine glasses sat on the table. Empty.

  Oh boy.

  “Dad, I got a call you back...”

  “Don’t forget to take some aspirin.”

  I hung up. Ambrose plunked down beside me, offering that knowing look only a dog could give. The sort that said, yeah, I chase my tail and lick my ass, but at least I didn’t make the mistakes you made last night.

  How drunk had I been? The memories were hazy. I remembered giggling. Getting egged on by Chloe. The girls in the limo laughing. And then the single word that I had whispered.

  Marius.

  I’d said his name. A lot. The rest of the night faded into a fuzzy navel blur. I’d been talking about him. Regaling the girls with stories about him. Describing his eyes, body, and the gravel roughness of his voice.

  And I did mention the word sexy. Also the word one-night stand.

  But I hadn’t been serious. My survival instincts had kicked in. At that point in the night, someone had to talk about having sex with a man that wasn’t my father. But it was all fun and games. Just gossip about Marius.

  I didn’t…

  I wouldn’t…

  There was no way I had invited Marius Payne to my house after the bachelorette party.

  It was ridiculous. I wasn’t that sort of girl. My nights involved quick showers, bowls of Raman noodles, and an hour or two of my desired craft for the month. This summer, I’d attempted needlework. Of course, I was terrible at embroidery, so I’d transitioned it into a first-aid lesson. Made for a fun, bloody Saturday night. At least the needle gave me a little prick.

  My weekends had taken a hit since dad started seeing Chloe. I had taken care of him for a long time. Ever since Mom died, I’d been the one making dinners, cleaning the house, helping with the bills. And now? Dad was getting taken care of by Chloe—in more ways than I cared to know.