Seven Brothers and a Virgin Page 4

  “We can’t let a woman come between us,” Vance says, his jaw hard. “She needs to go.”

  “We’ve shared women before,” I point out. “Maybe—”

  “Amelie is different.”

  Ah, there it is. The proof I’ve been looking for. “You want her, too.”

  He narrows his eyes at me. “She needs to go,” he repeats, each word sharply enunciated.

  “It’s too late for that. We’ve invited her to stay a few days.”

  “No.”

  I thump my head back against the cool wood of the stall door. The horse inside whinnies softly. “She’s staying until she’s sure this is what she wants. We’ve agreed.”

  “I didn’t fucking agree. In fact, I think I made it clear that no one was fucking her.”

  “No fucking. Not yet. Not until she’s sure.”

  Vance shoves to his feet. “Whose dumbass idea was this?”

  “Mine.”

  He glares at me. “Of course it was.”

  I stand, too. We’re almost the same height, but he’s bulkier. Doesn’t matter. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I demand. I want to punch something, and Vance will do just fine.

  “It means you, of all of us, should have had the sense God gave a doorknob not to buy into this. You should have sent her on her way first thing this morning. You know who her father is!”

  Yeah, I do. And while that’s a huge red flag, I haven’t been able to make myself care. “Why is this on me? She doesn’t want to go. I’m just supposed to throw her out? Let her be bullied by her father? Let some toady friend of her father’s force her into his bed? ‘Rape’ is an ugly word, Vance, but that’s what it would be.”

  “No.” He lets out a long, pained breath. “No, I don’t want that for her.”

  I remember how she kept looking to Vance last night. I had thought it was because she perceived him as the leader, but maybe there was something more.

  He sinks back against one of the stalls. “There’s no way this ends well. Carter has been behind all the shit we’ve gone through the past few years. After we inherited the ranch, when he tried to buy it out from under us, I was able to scrape together enough to pay the taxes and keep him from getting his hands on it, but he never forgot. He’s been calling in favors, trying to undermine our business ever since. If he knew that his precious daughter was here with us, and Jesus, that she was planning to sleep with one of us, he would go nuclear.”

  “I didn’t know it had gone that far,” I say. I wonder how many other things Vance has kept to himself over the years. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I didn’t want to put more on you and the others than you already had to bear.” Vance looks worried. More worried than I’d ever seen him. “Amelie’s father has a lot of sway in this area, and he’s just been playing with us up to now. I think if he wanted to, he could make things a lot more uncomfortable for us. Because it’s not about the land anymore. It’s about winning. Hank Carter is a man who likes to win. He’s not going to stand for us keeping our land and his daughter.”

  I know what that means. It means I could lose the ranch if Carter is determined enough to try to get from us, one way or another. I’ve always wanted to carry on the family ranching business. My plan is to settle down eventually, raise a family here. I was glad we’d voted to shut down the resort side of things and get back to ranching. But if we allow Amelie to stay, that could all be in jeopardy.

  Still, I can’t even think about sending a young innocent girl into the arms of a would-be rapist.

  And neither can Vance.

  I cock my head, suddenly understanding. “She got to you, too.”

  “It doesn’t matter. No good can come of this, other than one of us getting laid. It’s just not worth it.”

  And with that, he heads for the woodshed, where no doubt he’ll be building a damn boat within three hours. That’s always been his solace. Building things—wrestling a raw block of wood into something beautiful with nothing but his hands and a few tools.

  Shit. There’s no good solution here. If she stays, we risk her father’s retaliation, not to mention the certainty that fists will eventually fly. We all want her, even if some of us aren’t willing to own up to it.

  She’s with Jackson now, fixing the fence down by the creek I’ve been on him to mend for a week or more. Before I can evaluate my decision, I’m stalking out of the barn and heading for the creek.

  6

  AMELIE

  Even though it’s still spring, the day is hot. Jackson and I have taken his pickup out to the broken fence on the far side of the Maddox property, and I’m enjoying the day as he pulls off some of the old, rotten boards and replaces them with new ones. When Jackson strips off his T-shirt, that hard body, tan from the sun and lean from ranch work, is just as worthy of admiration as the bluebells that dot the hills in the distance.

  The tailgate is down and I’m sitting on it, my bare feet dangling in midair.

  “So, tell me about yourself, Amelie Carter. What do you like to do?”

  I tear my gaze away from Jackson’s body to meet his eyes. “I’ve been studying, mostly.”

  “Me, too. Online. Finished my degree a little while back.”

  “What subject?”

  “Investment banking,” he says.

  I’m a little surprised. “I didn’t know investment bankers could look like you,” I say, before I can think about how rude that sounds.

  Instead of being insulted, he laughs. “The calluses will fade,” he says. “Pretty soon I’ll be a city slicker.”

  “Now that would be a shame,” I say, meaning it. “It seems like you belong here. In the open, in the sunshine.”

  He nods. “I do love Broken Creek, but it’s time for a change. All of us—almost all of us, anyway—feel like it’s time to move on. Find whatever it is that we need to be whole.” He hammers on another new board, and I admire the way the muscles in his shoulders bunch and release with each stroke.

  “Wow, that’s a deep thought for a first date,” I tease, only half joking.

  He hangs the claw of his hammer from his pocket and smiles at me. “I haven’t been on a first date in a long time. I’m rusty.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” I say. “The ladies must flock around you and your brothers wherever you go.”

  “We do all right,” he allows with a grin. “But that’s not what I would call dating.”

  “You aren’t interested in having girlfriends?”

  He shrugs. “It’s not that we’re not interested. There’s just been no time. Running the ranch and getting my degree have been my focus for several years now.”

  He leans against the fence, pinning me with his incredible blue gaze. “Now that the ranch is back to being a family thing, maybe we’ll have time for a special woman.”

  He grins at me, and something flips over in my stomach. Having the sole attention of a man as sexy as Jackson is overwhelming.

  “What about you?” he asks, wiping his hands on a rag and sauntering over to me. “I’ll bet you’ve left behind a string of broken hearts.”

  “No real boyfriends,” I say. “And the ‘dates’ I’ve been on have been more photo ops than romance.”

  “That’s too bad,” he says, reaching the tailgate. He tosses his tools and the old boards into the bed and uses his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. “Want to take a break? There’s a shady spot just down the hill.”

  I nod, and he takes my hand as I hop down. The grass is still wet after the night’s storms, and it feels good on my bare feet, tickling them with cool, soothing fingers. The smell of damp earth intensifies as the sun rises higher in the clear sky.

  We stroll down the hill, my hand still in Jackson’s much larger one, and stop behind a copse of trees. Tall grass and brush fill in the gaps, with wildflowers lending color.

  He spreads his shirt on the grass for me to sit on. His broad, tanned chest looks like anything but the doughy torso I imagine an
investment banker to have.

  I sit on the makeshift blanket, and he moves behind me to sit with his knees on either side of my hips. I feel his heat at my back, warm and comforting, even though this is a man I barely know. Not to mention I was rubbing against this man’s brother just a few hours before. But when Jackson’s hands go to my shoulders and he begins to massage the tight muscles there, I sort of forget everything else.

  “Oh my God, you have magic hands. I’ll bet you’ve heard that before.”

  “A time or two,” he confirms, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

  I allow my eyelids to drift closed as Jackson works at the knots in my shoulders.

  “You’re so tense,” he says. His breath stirs the hair near my ear, making me shiver.

  “Yeah, it’s been a stressful twenty-four hours,” I say, barely able to make my mouth form the words.

  His hands move down the center of my back, following my spine. “I wish I had a table here,” he says. He brushes my hair to the side, exposing my nape. He presses a kiss just where my spine meets my head, and the light stubble of his upper lip tickles my sensitive flesh. “I would spread you out and do this right.”

  I don’t know if he meant that to sound as dirty as it did, but now all I can think about is me naked and spread out on a table in front of Jackson, my legs open and ready. I try to swat the mental image away and focus on the conversation. “You’re a masseur?”

  “Nah. I was just in charge of the spa that we used to have here for guests. I picked up a few tricks from the pros.”

  “Feels good to me,” I say, my head lolling forward.

  “This would be better without a shirt in the way,” he says, leaving the question unasked.

  I pause for a moment before I decide to be bold. I’m here to leave behind my inhibitions, and besides, I want his hands on me, skin to skin. I peel off Reed’s T-shirt and toss it to the side. After only a moment’s hesitation, I chuck my bra, too.

  If Jackson is surprised, he doesn’t show it. His hands pick up where they left off on my shoulders. “Better?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I say, stifling a groan. His hands are big and warm, and the muscles in my shoulders and neck are starting to unknot. Jackson’s magic hands on my bare skin are pure bliss.

  His hands stroke slowly up and down while he presses kisses to my neck and nips at my ear. His pace is slow but relentless, and warmth pools low in my belly. I squirm backward, pressing against him, needing more contact, more of Jackson touching more of me. My nipples are tight, and the sun’s warmth only adds to the sensation.

  His hands slide up, and he traces my collarbone with rough fingertips, from shoulder to the hollow of my throat.

  I sigh.

  “You like this? My hands on you?” His voice is husky with a hint of that smile in it.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want more?” His hands inch closer to my aching breasts.

  I arch my back, trying to tell him without words what I need.

  “Like this?” He moves his hands, finally, covering my breasts, his palms teasing the hard peaks.

  “Yes,” I breathe.

  He lowers his head to press hot, wet kisses to the sensitive curve between my neck and shoulder. I raise my hand to tangle in his hair, urging him on.

  “I need your mouth,” he says against my skin, and I turn my head to comply.

  His kiss is different from Vance’s. His lips are a little softer, but he doesn’t waste any time taking what he wants. His tongue sweeps in, teasing me, as he molds my breasts to the shape of his hands. He plucks at my nipples, bringing the peaks to an almost painful state.

  I need…something.

  Suddenly, his hands are gone, and he lifts me to sit across his lap. His legs are straight out in front of him, and I’m snuggled up to his bare chest. The bulge in his jeans presses against the back of my thigh, and all I can think about is seeing him, touching him.

  “Amelie,” he whispers before attacking my mouth again. His kiss is deeper now. This is a kiss of possession, of need as great as my own. And that, more than anything, turns me on the most. That this sexy, confident, experienced man wants me, a silly virgin who hasn’t the slightest idea what she’s doing.

  “I want—” I start, not knowing how to finish.

  “I know. I know what you want. And I’m going to give it to you.”

  He lets me recline further and brings his mouth to my breasts.

  “Yes” is all I can manage. He teases the nipples with his talented tongue, swirling around the points before sucking them into his mouth. A near painful burst of pleasure shoots straight to my pussy. I squirm on his lap. One hand is in his hair, making sure he doesn’t dare lift his head and leave me wanting. This other hand is curled into the fabric of his jeans, holding on for dear life.

  He pulls back slightly to blow on my wet nipples, sending another round of shivers ricocheting through my body.

  “Ice,” he says against my flesh. “Next time, ice.”

  “What?”

  His words don’t make sense.

  “I’ll put an ice cube in my mouth and do this.” His voice is husky. “Your breasts are so sensitive. You would love it.”

  I shudder at the thought. Sensation overload. “I don’t think I can take much more,” I say, more breath than voice.

  “You can.” He nips at me, the sharp jolt of pleasure/pain making me jump. “And you will.”

  “Jackson,” I breathe. “Please.”

  I want him. He freezes and, taking a shuddering breath, raises his head. “I can’t, Amelie. We’ve decided that none of us is going to take your virginity until you have some time to think it over—to decide if that’s really what you want.” He smiles ruefully and brushes the hair away from my flushed face. “But I can make things better.”

  He slides a hand down my torso to the top of my jeans and pops the button. Instantly I stiffen, and I’m not sure whether it’s fear or anticipation. Maybe both.

  “Trust me?” he asks, pausing.

  His eyes are dark, the pupils wide with desire. But there’s control there. He wants to give, not take. And the choice is mine.

  “Yes,” I breathe, and he smiles before lowering his head back to my breasts, licking and nipping as before. But now he slides his hand inside my jeans, over my panties. The heat of his palm against my swollen pussy is almost too much. I buck against him, the sweet pressure reminding me of the encounter with Vance, but this is more deliberate, more focused. He presses in just the right spot, stroking me through my panties.

  He groans. “I want to be inside you so fucking bad. I can’t wait to have you.” He draws in a shuddering breath. “But not yet.”

  Oh my God, I want that, too. I want him with a fierceness that almost makes me beg him to forget about his agreement with his brothers.

  He kisses my mouth again, increasing the pressure and tempo of his hand. Something is happening, something building, touch by touch. My muscles tighten, and I gasp, ripping my mouth from his.

  “That’s it, Amelie. Come for me. I want to feel it. Let go.”

  7

  JESSE

  I barely notice the warm sun beating down on my back, the smell of spring in the air. All I can think of is Amelie. And Jackson. And whether he’s about to fuck her.

  Her sweet cries of pleasure ring out through the spring morning, blending naturally with the sounds of birds and insects and the rustling of leaves in the trees.

  Blood rushes straight to my dick, and I pick up my pace. I want to see her come. That it’s my brother making her feel so much pleasure doesn’t matter. All that matters is Amelie and how much she’s enjoying what Jackson is doing to her.

  I come around the copse of trees and see them. I stop short. She’s lying across his lap. His hand is down her jeans, his mouth worshipping her bare breast.

  She’s even more lovely than I had imagined, and she looks so at ease, so natural in her pleasure. Her voice, a breathy series of sighs, and Jac
kson’s name carry on the breeze.

  My cock hardens painfully and I shift, uncomfortable with watching when I haven’t been invited, but unable to look away. We’ve shared women before, Jackson and I. And some of the others, if it was something all parties wanted and agreed to ahead of time. But now I’m intruding, spying. A voyeur.

  I’d be lying if I said that doesn’t turn me on. I like to watch. Always have.

  Amelie is getting closer to her climax now, writhing on Jackson’s lap. I wonder if she’s ever come before. Certainly not by a man’s hand, but maybe by her own? The thought of her touching herself…

  My dick is rock hard, my jeans squeezing painfully. I want to pull out my dick and beat off, watching her, but I can’t tear my eyes away from her flushed skin and swollen lips. Her mouth forms a delightful O as her climax finally overtakes her.

  Jackson raises his head and smiles. She’s limp in his arms, her full, pert breasts with their rosy pink nipples gleaming with moisture. He snuggles her closer to his bare chest and whispers something in her ear.

  Then he turns to look right at me. “Hey, Jesse. Care to join us?”

  He knew I was there the whole time. Knows I saw her come.

  She sits up suddenly, eyes wide. “Jesse?”

  She moves to cover herself, but Jackson kisses her and gently encircles her wrists, keeping her from covering those beautiful, plump breasts.

  “It’s okay,” Jackson says. “There’s no shame here. Jesse liked watching you come so sweetly, didn’t you, Jesse?”

  “God, yes,” I breath, reaching them.

  Amelie blushes, but stops trying to cover herself.

  “You’re here to discover pleasure, right?” Jackson says, stroking her flushed cheek. “Jesse wants to look at you, too. Touch you. Don’t you, Jesse?”

  Thank God Jackson is speaking for me, because all my words are stuck somewhere deep in my throat.

  “Yes,” I finally manage.

  She doesn’t look completely sure. In fact she looks a little guilty, like I’ve caught her cheating on me or something.