Turn and Burn, Page 28

  “You don’t have to say that if you don’t want me here.”

  “I want you here. I just wasn’t expecting you. It threw me off.” He nuzzled her ear. “Come in. Please.”

  “Okay.”

  Fletch picked her up as if she weighed nothing and carried her inside.

  As soon as he set her down, she snaked her arms around his waist and set her head on his chest. Listening to the strong and steady thumping of his heart. Breathing him in—the scent of clean cotton and his spicy musk. The scent she’d missed.

  Fletch silently stroked her hair.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For?”

  “For bein’ the way I am.”

  “Sugar twang, I like the way you are. So what’s all this really about?”

  Tanna tipped her head back. Tempting to dodge the issue and seduce him. He wouldn’t say no. But she forced herself to address this head-on. “You know there’s nothin’ goin’ on between me and Sutton Grant, don’t you?”

  “I’d wondered.”

  “Why?”

  “A couple of things pointed that direction.”

  “Like what?”

  His gaze hardened and his hands tightened on her head. “Why did you leave my bed the other morning?”

  He had noticed. So she tossed off a breezy, “I woke up early and couldn’t get back to sleep. I didn’t think you needed to suffer for my restlessness, so I left.”

  Fletch’s hands fell away. She knew he wasn’t buying her fib. “Thoughtful of you.”

  She smiled. “I try.”

  “So you didn’t suspect your bloodcurdling scream before you scrambled out of my bed might’ve woken me up?”

  “What?”

  “Don’t do that, Tanna.”

  “Do what?”

  “Lie to me. Since you drove over here, and you’re so concerned for me, at least give me the goddamned courtesy of being honest with me.” He spun on his heel. Paced down the hallway and came back. “I know you’re not fucking around with Sutton Grant. But there’s part of me that wishes you were.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Why would you even say that to me?”

  “Because then maybe I’d understand why you’re turning to him instead of me. I get your physical affection, but when it comes to any emotional issues, you cut me off. You ran screaming from my bed, Tanna. And the person who gets the explanation for that is . . . Sutton? Not me?” Fletch inhaled a slow breath. “Did you really think I wouldn’t want to know? I’m just the fun sex guy, right?”

  “No! You’re so much more than that.”

  “Prove it. Tell me about the nightmare, because you glossed over it when Sutton asked you about it.”

  So Fletch had overheard their conversation. Tanna wrapped her arms around herself and backed away. “It’s about my mother and Jezebel. I’m in the middle of my run and we skid around the second barrel, just like that night. But instead of crashing like we did, Jezebel gets up and I’m tangled in the stirrups, bein’ dragged beneath her. She’s bleeding. Broken bones are sticking through her skin. Somehow I know she only has one eye and we’re headed toward the gate at breakneck speed. I can’t stop her. She’s killing herself to finish the run. She’s killing me to finish it too. I’m yelling at her to stop. When I look ahead, I see my mother standing in the middle of the open gate. I’m shouting at her to move but she stays right there. Smiling that proud smile . . . and when Jezebel hits her at full steam, I hear my mom’s scream, Jezebel’s scream and lastly mine. Then I wake up. I can’t reassure myself it was only a bad dream. The reality is my mom is dead, my horse is dead and I’m wandering around lost.”

  Fletch enfolded her in his arms, holding her tightly so she couldn’t squirm away. He didn’t push her to talk or offer platitudes.

  Part of her would’ve preferred that reaction from him. This silent comfort was unnerving mostly because he understood that’s exactly what she needed.

  He pulled back and wiped the tears from her eyes. “Maybe I haven’t said it enough, but I’m sorry for all you’ve gone through.”

  “Can you see why some days I just wanna pull the covers over my head and hope I dreamt the last two years?”

  “Then we never would’ve met.”

  She twined her arms around his neck. “But that might’ve been for the best. I’m a train wreck, Fletch. Why did you even answer the door tonight?”

  “Because I don’t think you’re a train wreck. You’re a hot mess some days, but you’ve not derailed completely.” Fletch traced the outline of her face with the blunt edge of his thumb.

  Tanna felt that pull of sexual need from the tips of her fingers to the ends of her toes—just that one, simple gesture filled her with want. But she’d used sex as a distraction with him far too many times and it was time she pointed out he did the same thing. “You need to really think about that statement when I’m not pressed tight against your hard cock. When you’re not feeling all soft and sweet and sorry for me.” She placed her finger over his lips when he started to argue. “You know I’m right. I’d understand if you’ve changed your mind about getting mixed up, even temporarily, with someone like me.”

  “I ain’t gonna change my mind about anything, sugar twang. But I won’t be compartmentalized anymore either. I don’t have a problem with you bein’ friends with Sutton. But I do have a problem with you telling him stuff you oughta be telling me. You’d better be as comfortable talking to me as you are fucking me. We clear on that?”

  Well, then. No misunderstanding those terms. “Uh. Yeah. I . . . can we be done talking about this right now?”

  Those fierce golden-brown eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “Because I really want you to show me this fancy house of yours, Doc.”

  Fletch smiled. “That, I can do. Come on.” He held her hand as he led her into the interior. Light streamed through the windows, falling across hardwood floors the color of warm honey. The entire space was open. Oversized leather furniture was arranged in front of a rock fireplace. The kitchen wasn’t enormous but it utilized the space well. It boasted an island with a cooktop surrounded on the front side by a breakfast bar.

  “Great kitchen,” she commented. “Do you use it a lot?”

  He shrugged. “I’m usually not here enough to do much cooking. My dad comes over and putters around.”

  Tanna admired the artwork adorning the walls. Native American themed, it ran the gamut from scenes painted on leather animal skins, to different types of old weapons, to drawings seemingly painted by children. She came to a dead stop upon seeing the six-foot-tall metal sculpture. Without searching for the artist’s signature, she knew this work was the creation of the same guy who’d done the art at the Split Rock.

  The piece was a mishmash of metal parts: chains, plates, pieces of pipe, horseshoes, silverware, doorknobs, mysterious chunks of junk she couldn’t name. But somehow, it all blended together to create a tipi. Even the parts that were supposed to resemble billows of fabric or animal skin stretched around the base were forged from sheets of metal. It was one of the most remarkable sculptures she’d ever seen.

  She ran her finger over the tipi poles sticking out the top, crafted out of thick, rusty sections of rebar. “This piece absolutely blows my mind.”

  “Braxton really knocked it out of the park with this one.” Fletch chuckled. “I commissioned it when Braxton was an unknown artist and needed cash. He keeps trying to buy it back from me to display at an art gallery, but I keep refusing. It’s really the first cool thing I bought for myself that spoke of my race.”

  “I don’t blame you for keeping it private.” Tanna glanced at the opposite wall. It held an elaborate family crest, done up like a family tree with branches going every which way. Encased behind glass because it appeared to be hand painted. She cocked an eyebrow at him. “And this?”

  “My dad’s family is Scottish. He knew I’d taken an interest in my Indian heritage so he wanted to be sure I had that part of me too.”

 
“Sweet.”

  “You want me to continue the tour?”

  “Lead on, MacDuff.”

  Fletch groaned.

  “At least I didn’t whoop out an Indian war cry.”

  He groaned again. “You really have no filter, do you?”

  Tanna froze. “Does that bother you?”

  He smiled and leaned down to brush his mouth across her wrinkled brow. “Nope. It’s one of my favorite things about you.”

  The wide hallway opened into a great room. “It’s too dark to see the back, but there’s a meadow, and trees with a small stream.”

  “You’ve got water?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Celia indicated water was a hard commodity to come by here in the high plains desert.”

  “It is. Probably why I paid a pretty penny for this piece of land. Although, the guy did drop the price when I pointed out it wasn’t like I could run livestock beyond a horse or two.”

  Now that he mentioned it . . . she hadn’t seen any dogs or cats. “Don’t you have animals?”

  He shook his head. “My practice leaves me no time. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, animals needed tending. Wouldn’t be fair to leave a dog alone for sixteen hours and I can’t take one with me.”

  “True.” She spun a slow circle in the room. “So. No TV in here, huh?”

  “With this view? Nope. That’s why it’s in the den by the fireplace.”

  “Oh. I didn’t notice.” No doubt this was a single man’s pad. Big, comfy furniture. Sturdy coffee table overrun by stacks of magazines. “So, is that some of the reading material you needed to catch up on?”

  “That’s not even half.”

  Fletch tugged her to a closed door on the right side and it opened into his bedroom.

  The gigantic bed was the showpiece in the room. Larger than a king size and at least a foot taller than the biggest four-poster she’d seen. The comforter was tan, the pillows were navy and a star quilt was draped at the foot of the bed.

  She touched the tip of one vibrant red star. “That’s really pretty.”

  “One thing my mother didn’t manage to hock,” he said dryly.

  As much as Tanna wanted a more thorough look at his bedroom, she switched to a neutral topic. “How many bedrooms does this house have?”

  “Three. We used an A-frame for the forward portion of the house and there’s a bedroom up in the loft area. I bump my head on the ceiling, so we needed to expand. Holt built the master suite on one side. On the opposite side is another room I use as a home office and then there’s a workout room.” He opened a door. “The bathroom’s in here.”

  Tanna stepped into the glass- and black-tiled bathroom and envy burst through her. This reminded her of the bathroom at the ranch. Three showerheads had been placed at different heights and the opaque glass door could slide back for an open shower, or closed for a more intimate one. The vanity had two hammered copper sinks and the countertop height would graze the bottom of her rib cage. But it obviously was the right height for Fletch. The toilet was in an enclosed area with a pocket door. The entire top half of the wall opposite the mirror and vanity was windows. “Doesn’t it get cold in here in the winter with all these windows?”

  “Not really. The glass is thermo-pane so it keeps the hot air in.”

  They crossed the expanse of the bedroom back to the hallway and kept walking to another door.

  The office was half the size of the great room. One whole wall was floor to ceiling bookshelves, filled with books. “Holy cow. Have you read all those?”

  “Most. I have an extensive library of research books. Although I deal primarily with large animals, stuff comes up that I’ve never dealt with before so I need a frame of reference. And I like to have it at my fingertips.”

  This office had everything. Plush carpet. Shades that could block out the sun completely. A flat-screen TV was suspended on the wall. A big computer monitor sat on the center of the desk. A fax machine, a scanner, two printers were stacked alongside the keyboard. She glanced at him. “Do you work from home very much?”

  “Mostly on the weekends. Some clients have video cameras and can upload live video links to their animals, which is handy because sometimes I can diagnose over the Internet in real time. That ability has saved me several trips.” He sighed. “I should work from here more often since this is actually a lot nicer than my office space in Rawlins.”

  She frowned. So why wouldn’t he want all this information at his fingertips when he was doing research? Why would he leave it all behind on sabbatical and shack up in a crappy trailer?

  Because you’re there.

  That awareness froze her in place. Fletch knew she wouldn’t make the drive to Rawlins during his vacation time, so he came to her, because he’d made no bones about wanting her.

  Seeing all he was giving up? Just for a chance to be with her, even temporarily? Talk about humbling.

  She smiled at him brightly to hide her self-consciousness.

  His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What?”

  “How long have you lived in this gorgeous place?”

  “Four years. Holt worked on the design for six months after I bought the land. We were both happy with how it turned out.”

  “You should be.” Tanna reached up to sift her fingers through his hair. So thick and long. She loved the way it trailed along over her skin as he kissed down her torso. She dug her nails into the back of his neck and yanked his mouth to hers for a hot, wet kiss.

  They eased back simultaneously from the kiss that’d left them both breathless.

  Then Fletch’s hands were cupping her face, angling her head to peer into her eyes. “Have you eaten?”

  “No.”

  “Will you let me feed you?”

  Did he mean literally?

  His eyes were dark with an odd male possession, as if he’d prefer she turn herself over to his care, but he wouldn’t demand it.

  “Yes.”

  “I want you to stay with me tonight.”

  “I’d like that,” she admitted softly.

  “Good.” Fletch placed the warmest, sweetest kiss on her lips. “Come to the kitchen.” Clasping her hand, he led her through an arched doorway. Then he plucked her up and set her on the counter. “Don’t move. I’ll bring the food to you.”

  Tanna watched as he sliced peppered salami and a hard white cheese swirled with yellow. He cut heavily grained bread into rectangles and halved cherry tomatoes. He added green olives and tiny sweet pickles. He squirted mustard, mayonnaise and pesto on a plate, spreading the colors out in an artist’s palette. He cracked open a dark bottle and held it to her lips.

  “It’s hard cider. It’ll go well with the light bites.”

  She sipped and the bubbles burst on her tongue. It tasted like fizzy citrus beer. “Mmm.”

  Fletch knocked back a mouthful. Then he inserted himself between her legs and tugged her forward until their pelvises were aligned. When Tanna moved her palms to his hips, he shook his head and brought her hands up. “I touch you.” He kissed her knuckles. “I feed you.” He kissed her other hand. “You just sit there and let me see to you.”

  The indignation she expected never came.

  He began to feed her. A piece of bread dipped in pesto. An olive and a piece of cheese. A sip of cider. While he fed her, he touched her. First, a brush of his fingers down her neck. Next he dragged the backs of his knuckles across her collarbone. Smoothing her hair away from her face. Following her jawline while she chewed. Trailing his fingertips up and down her arms. Sweeping his thumb across the crease in her elbow.

  Her heart raced. The excitement from his unwavering attention made her pulse pound and she felt it everywhere. On her lips. In her throat. Between her thighs.

  The gentle nuzzles, the stolen kisses, the way his breath fanned across her damp skin or teased her ear—every inch of her skin was highly sensitized, eager for his touch.

  And Fletch kept nurturing her body and soul. A b
ite of sweet pickle. A chunk of meat dipped in mayo. A tangy piece of tomato. Interspersing kisses and licks and soft smooches.

  Tanna was absolutely drunk on him.

  When the plate was empty, he nuzzled the crook of her neck. “Still hungry? I can cut up more.”

  “I’m good. Thanks.”

  “Time for dessert.”

  “Fletch, I’m—”

  “Just a couple of bites.” He ran his tongue over the shell of her ear. “Sweet bites.”

  “You can fill me up with sugar bites like this anytime.”

  “Sugar bites?” he repeated against her neck.

  The warmth of his breath tickled more than just her damp skin. “That’s what we Texans call these sweet little nipping kisses. Sugar bites.”

  “I guess that fits, ’cause, sugar, I could just eat you up. Bite”—he fastened his teeth to her earlobe and tugged—“by bite.”

  Yes, please. “Hang on a second. I’m thirsty.”