Loving Deep: Steele Ridge Series Read online

  Love. He’d never experienced an inkling of the emotion. Maybe because most of his relationships had only lasted a few months before either they or he got bored and wanted to move on.

  What a mess. Here he was, pushing for the next step, yet he had no idea if he was even prepared for it. Maybe his next step didn’t match hers. Maybe they had nothing in common. Maybe her interest in him stopped at physical companionship. Having a boyfriend might be the furthest thing from her mind. Could he settle for a sex-only arrangement? He’d done so in the past, but every time he considered that kind of relationship with Randi, his mind shied away from the idea. Something vital would be missing. Off. Way off. Lost for hours kind of off.

  “Here we go.” Blake set down their drinks. “Your meals will be out in a few minutes.” He trotted off, leaving silence in his wake.

  “Should we discuss the details of my agreement with Jonah?” she asked.

  The first stirrings of failure formed low in his gut. He’d hoped this evening would end in her agreement to see him again. But that plan had just taken a right turn toward the big R.

  “There’s really not much to discuss. He’s purchasing Sagebrook for a price agreeable to you both.”

  “No caveat? No exceptions? No contingent-upon clauses?”

  He shrugged. “Jonah likes to keep things simple.”

  “What is he getting out of this besides additional land? Does he know about the wolves?”

  “He does now.”

  She shook her head as if the pieces of the puzzle refused to click into place. “Your brother is that wealthy? That he could purchase a thousand acres just to save a pack of wolves?”

  “And he won’t even feel a dent in his wallet.”

  “He must love you very much.”

  It took several seconds for Britt to force the words through his tight throat. “He’s a good kid—when he’s not a pain in the ass.”

  She smiled. “I always wondered what it would be like to have a brother or sister.”

  “I have a few you could borrow. Free for a decade.”

  “You’d miss them too much.”

  “I have an amazing ability to ignore my own needs. I’ll survive.”

  “Wait until I see Grif. I’m sure he’ll be interested to know that his older brother was trying to barter him off.”

  “You’re right. Grif would never let me execute the deal for free. He’d make sure I got a fair—more than fair—price for him.”

  Her laugh echoed across the room. A pure, contagious note that made his mouth cock into an answering grin.

  “You are all sorts of wrong. I wouldn’t have taken you for a wicked card-carrying member.”

  Leaning back, he toyed with his fork. “What membership did you think I held?”

  “Staid. Brooding. Controlled.”

  Britt raised a brow. “By all means, take your time and think about it awhile.”

  “What? You don’t like my assessment?”

  “I’m not sure. Sounds like you’re calling me boring.”

  “When you come into my bar, you and your brothers always have people around you. Yet most of the time, you appear to be observing, not participating.”

  Interesting. She’d watched him as much as he’d watched her. Maybe the Big R of rejection had ducked behind the bend.

  “I’m not much of a conversationalist.” Britt cringed. Way to sell himself to the hot chick.

  “Really? I don’t recall there being any awkward moments between us.”

  Britt reviewed their previous conversations and discovered she was right. Even during some of their more difficult discussions he hadn’t been at a loss for words. Tonight was no exception. He’d sat down dreading how he would make it through the meal. How he would keep things interesting when so much of what they had in common would be off-limits. But they’d been here a good fifteen minutes, and he was enjoying himself.

  “Must be you.”

  “I doubt it. You might be one of those people who express themselves better one-on-one, rather than with a group of folks.”

  “Did you major in psychology?”

  “No, but I should have. Running my own business is as much about building healthy relationships with and between my staff as it is increasing revenues. Both take time and a whole lot of patience.” She took a sip of her sangria. “You know what I’m talking about. Aren’t you a contractor or something?”

  “Simple handyman.”

  Her eyes strolled over his face, neck, and chest. “There’s nothing simple about you, Britt Steele.”

  The way she said his name made his gut tighten. If they hadn’t been in this restaurant, he would have had her sprawled out beneath him on a bed, floor, island, anything horizontal. The need to feel her wrapped all around him was becoming an obsession.

  “Au contraire,” he said. “I live in the woods, in a four-room cabin. I have no wife to answer to, no kids to screw up, no employees to disappoint. My client changes on a weekly, sometimes daily basis, and if I don’t like him or her, I walk away. Simple.”

  An emotion flitted across her beautiful face, but it fled before he could poke a finger at it. “What about friends? Or…female companionship?”

  “I have a select few friends whom I trust and who’ve known me since I was a rugrat. When it comes to companionship with the opposite sex, I’m”—he held her gaze—“selective.”

  “No commitments?”

  “None.”

  “No hard feelings?”

  “Friends to the end and after.” His mouth slid into a smile. “You should know, I don’t do flowers or morning-after calls.”

  “Now that’s too bad.” Her expression turned solemn. “That might be a deal-breaker.”

  Sonofabitch. He started to tell her he’d make an exception when her straight face started crumbling.

  “Have you heard the expression ‘paybacks are a bugger’?” he asked.

  She craned her neck around, searching.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Anyone who might have captured your expression on camera. I would give up my Jeep for a copy.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re going to be trouble?”

  She winked. “I haven’t the slightest idea.”

  He weighed the wisdom of his next statement. A hefty caveat to the arrangement their banter was creating. His time with her could disappear in a blink. Or it could be the beginning of something really special.

  Oh, hell. He had to go all in on this or he’d regret it. “There’s one more thing you should know.”

  She stilled, hearing the change in the tone of his voice. “Go on.”

  “I’m not looking for sex alone.”

  Confusion scrunched the area between her eyebrows. “I’m listening.”

  “I want to be with you, hang with you, laugh with you.”

  Her features relaxed. “I believe they call that friends with benefits.”

  “That works for me.”

  “Me, too.”

  The air sizzled around them, and Britt didn’t know if he’d make it through supper without dragging her across the table for a hard, tongue-dueling kiss.

  “Here you go,” Blake-the-bad-timing-server bleated with a charm-filled grin. “Cedar plank tilapia with chimichurri sauce.” He set a plate before Randi before dropping Britt’s in front of him. “And jumping-on-the-plate prime rib.”

  Britt’s stomach growled. He ignored it. Ignored bleating Blake. Ignored the voice warning him to take it slow, to be the turtle. Be the turtle, be the turtle, be the damn turtle. His eyes traveled to Randi’s, settled, asked. Her answering nod, infinitesimal.

  “Can I bring you anything else?” Blake asked.

  To hell with the turtle.

  “Yes,” Britt said. “Carryout boxes.”

  20

  Anticipation leapt along Randi’s nerve endings as Britt steered his truck down the gravel drive leading to his cabin. Their conversation had dwindled with each mile he’d put betw
een them and the restaurant. Words gave way to long, promising looks, to charged silence, to driving, aching need.

  The only thing that kept her from ripping free of her skin was Britt’s tight hold of her hand. Upon entering his vehicle, he’d tangled his fingers with hers and hadn’t let go. How had he known that she needed the comfort of his touch, the connection of his flesh against hers?

  He turned the truck off and faced her, an easy smile on his lips. A smile that belied the hunger in his eyes. “Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.” Squeezing her hand, he released her, then came around to open her door.

  She couldn’t help but be charmed by his attempt to set her at ease. Beneath his watchful, brooding facade existed an easygoing, down-to-earth guy who appealed to her on a scary level. He was like warmed peach cobbler on a chilly summer night, like a pair of well-worn leather boots supporting you on a rugged hike. And wedged beneath all that brooding and easygoingness beat a big compassionate heart.

  After assisting her down, he set her hand in the crook of his elbow. Such a sweet, gallant gesture that seemed as natural to him as breathing. Using the uneven terrain as an excuse, she pressed against his arm and soaked up the firm strength of his big body.

  He hit a switch, and a side table lamp cast a soft glow over the small living space. His cabin looked like a bachelor’s pad in many ways. Dirty dishes teetered on the counter, and an empty beer bottle sat near a leather recliner. A faded blue ball cap, a red flannel shirt, and a ring of keys hung from a pegboard near the door.

  But dust didn’t cover every surface, and the cabin didn’t smell of stale food. In fact, a woodsy, faint lemony scent blanketed the air. A laptop and several thick books occupied the small breakfast table, and newspaper clippings, graphs, and a U.S. map covered a corkboard on one wall.

  She saw no sign of a television or music system. His cabin felt like a home and command center all in one.

  Britt paused, scanning the interior as if seeing it for the first time. “I, uh, didn’t expect company tonight.”

  His confession warmed her. In her office earlier, he’d, intentionally or unintentionally, tapped into her loneliness to entice her to dine with him. Although she hadn’t been 100 percent sure of where they’d end up after supper, she’d prayed it would be his bed—or hers.

  But he had not made any assumptions about how things would end tonight, which further confirmed his statement about this thing between them not being just about sex. Something she hadn’t completely believed at the time. Now she did.

  Randi released his arm and strolled around the room, unabashedly snooping. Angling her body over the breakfast table, she read the header of one slender book.

  International Journal of Natural Resource Ecology and Management.

  Her gaze moved to the next book.

  The Secret World of Red Wolves.

  Every tome littering his table explored something about the natural world. Not one handyman how-to guide or operating manual. He lived and breathed wildlife and land management.

  A stack of papers atop a large manila envelope caught her eye. Application for Anti-Poaching Foundation…Green Army—

  “Let me clean this up.” He snatched the papers and books from the table and stashed them on a small desk tucked against the living room wall.

  “May I ask you a personal question?”

  He speared her a wary look. “Sure.”

  “Why did you pick your current profession rather than the one that’s obviously so close to your heart?”

  “No degree, no biologist position.”

  Although his explanation was straightforward, Randi detected an aching regret underlying his words. “Have you considered taking night classes?”

  A whisper, barely a touch, grazed along the zippered seam at the back of her dress. Her breath caught, waiting. But the release of her zipper never came.

  “I’ve taken a few night classes,” he said. “At this point in my life obtaining a degree for career reasons doesn’t make sense.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  His fingers skimmed over her hair, soothing her scalp. “Most biologists have five to ten years under their belt by my age. In the time it would take me to get my degree, those same biologists would have their eye on retirement.”

  “All the better for you to take their place.”

  He chuckled. “I’m too old to learn a young man’s science.”

  She twisted around. “Nonsense.” She pointed toward the stack of books. “You’ve educated yourself. All you need now is field experience.”

  “I was working on it.”

  Understanding widened her eyes. “Is that why you were working with Mom?”

  “In part.” He stared at his desk, at the mound of papers. “Lord only knew what, but Barbara saw something in me.”

  “It’s not too hard to figure out what.”

  A smile appeared on his handsome face, thankful, sad, defeated. He trailed a finger along her cheek. “Optimist.”

  She shook her head. “Someone has done a number on you, and I suspect the guilty party’s standing right in this room.”

  “Meaning, I’m my own worst enemy?”

  “You wouldn’t be the first to fall into that destructive mindset.” Her voice drifted off. “Or the last.”

  He brushed a stray tendril away from her eye. “Sounds like we’re both a mess.”

  “Yes.” If only she had the right words, the perfect morsel of wisdom to awaken him to his potential, to set him free from his self-imposed chains. Maybe her mother struggled with the same thing and that was why she began mentoring him.

  Action versus discussion.

  Her attention dropped to his mouth, fixed there. Action. Action, action, action.

  “If you continue staring at me like that,” he warned on a ragged breath, “I’m going to show you an effective distraction technique.”

  She rose on tiptoes, slipping her hands inside the collar of his button-down shirt. Her cool hands a balm against his heated neck. “Like this?” A mere half-inch away from his lips, she paused and glanced up at him.

  Stepping closer, he brought her body flush against his, covering her mouth with a hungry, openmouthed kiss. He tasted of beer and oranges and danger.

  She carved her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, deeper. When she ground against his hardness, he groaned and flexed his hips, driving them both mad. Too many clothes separated them. She hooked her knee around his thigh.

  Understanding her demand, he grasped her hips and lifted until she locked her legs around his waist. Their lips never parted as he picked his way to the bedroom. Once he reached the bed, he released her bottom and allowed her feet to slide to the floor. Breaths pulsed, hearts collided in an ancient rhythm.

  Randi could not think beyond the next second. Desire guided her every thought, every sense, every move. She could smell him. An intoxicating blend of masculine arousal and woodsy soap.

  “If you’re going to change your mind,” he said. “Now’s the time.”

  “Not a chance.” She clasped her hand over his and kissed his palm. “Unzip me?”

  He gave her a hard kiss before stepping behind her. Smoothing his hands down her unbound hair, he gathered the mass and laid it over one shoulder. With the greatest care, he opened the back of her dress. The rush of cool air against her overheated skin marking his progress. He continued his slow journey until the zipper terminated at the base of her spine.

  Closing her eyes, she prayed he wouldn’t be disappointed by her choice of underwear. Cotton and comfort were her preferred style. However, she had a couple of satiny special occasion sets, though they still veered toward comfort. No thongs or otherwise up-your-crack panties—just plain old bikini cut. Black.

  The tips of Britt’s fingers traced up her back, then down before inching their way under her dress to smooth over her flat stomach. His big body heated her flesh as he kissed the side of her neck, nuzzling her ear. His tongue toyed with the soft lobe, sucking
it into his hot, wet mouth.

  The area between her legs clenched, wanting his attention to move ever downward. Not knowing what to do with her hands, she shimmied one arm out of the dress and grasped the back of his neck. The other rested over his arm beneath her clothes.

  Releasing her earlobe, he trailed kisses along her jaw until she angled her head around to accept his kiss. His tongue plunged inside at the same time his fingers curled into her hot, wet center. A tremor started at the core of her body as she waited for the glide of his finger along her burning center. But contrary man that he was, his finger remained tantalizingly, achingly still.

  She began to squirm against the onslaught of raw need. His other hand cupped her breast, anchoring her to the earth. The hard, long length of him nestled in the crease of her bottom. She was aware of every inch of him, yet couldn’t think of what to do next. So she covered his hand between her legs and flexed her hips, encouraging him into a rhythm she knew would blow her mind.

  He didn’t move. The only parts of him in motion were his lips and tongue.

  “Britt, please,” she whispered. The ache between her legs became painful, deep, elemental. She found it hard to breathe.

  His hands eased away, ceasing their torture, and Randi mourned their loss. Emptiness filled the space. Until he began easing off her dress. It floated to the ground, pooling around her high heels.

  Slowly, she faced him and nearly melted with relief at the look of appreciation on his gorgeous features.

  “Better than my dreams,” he murmured, reaching for her.

  Randi lifted a staying hand. “Your turn.”

  “Why do I feel it’s payback time?” He unbuttoned the cuffs.

  “So harsh.” She freed several buttons. Her mouth watered with each inch of bare skin revealed. “For me”—she opened his shirt and pressed two lingering kisses to the center of his chest—“this is reward time.”

  He muttered something unintelligible before clamping his jaw shut. Randi smiled when his hands gripped her sides. She would enjoy this.