A Bride for Jericho Bravo Read online

  She brushed the backs of her fingers along his throat, making his Adam’s apple burn until he had to swallow—and then she reached back and clasped the nape of his neck.

  It was the moment to tell her they had to cut this crap out. But he didn’t say a damn thing, just gathered her against him when she went on tiptoe, offering her mouth.

  She kissed him. He kissed her back. The blood was thick and slow in his veins.

  And his pants were tighter by the second.

  She moved even closer, rubbed herself against him. She knew exactly what she was doing.

  He thought of the daybed over in the corner, of dragging her over there and unzipping her jeans. It was a minor miracle he stayed where he was. And it was beyond unbelievable that he somehow managed to take her by the waist and lift his mouth from the hot, wet, seduction of hers.

  “Don’t even think it,” she whispered.

  He crooked an eyebrow and tried to look like he had everything under control.

  Eventually, after gazing up at him for several heat-charged seconds, her expression both dreamy and smug, she said, “You don’t want to end this. Not yet. You know you don’t.”

  “Now you’re a mind reader.”

  She gave him a slow smile. “Well, it’s not exactly your mind I’m reading here.”

  “It’s hard being a guy. Literally.”

  They both laughed at his bad joke, which kind of eased the tension a little. Then she took his hand and led him over to the daybed and pulled him down next to her.

  “Anybody could come up those stairs,” he reminded her. From below in the shop, rising up from under the sound of heavy metal music, came the scream of a saw cutting steel.

  She sighed. “I know. And I didn’t drag you over here to get you to have sex with me.”

  “No?”

  “No—even though I think that we really should come up here one of these nights when no one else is in the shop. Because I could definitely do you in your place of work.”

  “Is sex all you think about?”

  She butted her shoulder against him. “Well, yeah. Since yesterday. When you kissed me. It’s like some old fifties song. You kissed me. Ka-pow. That did it. Doo-wop, doo-wop, sh-boom, baby—and I know you had coffee with Ash this morning.”

  He slumped back into the sagging cushions and stared in the general direction of the punching bag and free weights over in the corner, where he took out his frustrations when a project wasn’t going right. He wished he was working the bag about now.

  Marnie said, “I take it from your expression that it didn’t go well with Ash.”

  He grunted. “Tessa called him to tell him never mind, but he was already in the middle of reaming me a new one by then.”

  “She told me. And she’s sorry she butted in. And Ash is sorry, too. Everybody’s sorry. We need to just get over it and move on.”

  “Marnie, you need to think about where this is going—which is pretty much nowhere.”

  “Uh-uh. You’re wrong. You listened to whatever crap Ash was feeding you. It’s not his business. You should have told him that.”

  “I did. It had no effect on him. Until Tessa called. Then he backed off.”

  “You noticed your big brother is a little bit whipped?”

  “Yeah, so? He’s happy. Really happy.”

  “And good for him. Good for both of them. But they’re not us. We need to remember that.”

  “You need to remember, Marnie. There is no us.”

  She made a hissing sound, tongue curved just behind her neat white teeth. “Don’t be cruel. There is an us. At the moment, anyway.” Suddenly she was all cheerful briskness. “And I’ve been thinking.”

  “Now I’m really scared.”

  “Two things I want from you—I mean, beyond the basic hotness thing.”

  He knew he shouldn’t ask. “What two things?”

  “First, I want you to teach me to ride a chopper.”

  He laughed. “Wasn’t once enough?”

  “No.” She was looking way too serious.

  He tried to make her see what a dangerous idea that was. “Most choppers just aren’t designed to fit a woman. You’ll be on your toes when you put your feet down and you have to slide forward in the seat to reach the brake pedal.”

  “Yeah, so? I know that.”

  “It’s all fine as long as there are no surprises. But you’re looking for disaster at your first unplanned stop.”

  “Little Ted is shorter than me.” Little Ted was one of his builders. “I’ll bet he’s built something to fit him.”

  “You just don’t go taking a man’s ride.” Although she had done exactly that the day they met. She remembered, too. She grinned. He rolled his eyes.

  And she went right back to working on him. “Most of the guys around here have more than one. One to spare, even. And I could pay like rent—well, at least a little.”

  “Marnie…”

  She just looked at him. Determined. And hopeful. How did she do that? With a look, she could convince him of just about any harebrained thing.

  He shut his eyes, shook his head. “Give me a couple of days. Let me see if I can come up with something safe for you to ride.”

  She let out a whoop and jumped up, hitching a leg over him, straddling him. “You are so completely my hero!” She bent close and kissed him, making a loud, smacking sound.

  He snorted. “Save the gratitude for after I get you a ride—if I manage it.”

  She planted another smacker on him. “You will. I know you will.”

  He caught her by the waist—and liked the feel of her between his hands. Liked it way too much. He looked up into her shining baby-blue eyes. “That all? I have to work, you know.”

  “So do I. The other thing?”

  “Yeah. What?”

  “I’ve never seen where you live. Do you have an apartment? Your own house?”

  “I’ve got a house. It’s not very big. In a so-so neighborhood. It calls out for a close encounter with a few cans of fresh paint.”

  “Great. Can I come over?”

  “Why?”

  “I want to see it.”

  “Seriously? There’s not much to see.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I like you. I want to know more about you—like, you know, where you live.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  She hitched her leg back across him and plopped down beside him again. “What’s the big deal?”

  “Marnie. Let me take care of getting you a chopper that you’re not going to kill yourself on. Then we’ll talk about you coming to my place.”

  She pulled a long face. “And I thought getting you to teach me to ride was going to be the hard one.”

  “It’s only that it’s not real comfortable. I barely go there myself, except to shower, change clothes and sleep. Don’t make a big deal out of it, okay?”

  “All right.” She grabbed his hand, stood and towed him up with her, quickly sliding her arms under his and pulling him close. “You will be relieved to know that I’m going back to work now. One kiss and I’m out of here.”

  “Promises, promises…”

  “Tonight. The guesthouse. About eight, like last night?”

  He gave in without argument. Why draw it out? She’d only convince him to come to her in the end. “Okay. Eight.”

  “I like it when you say yes.” She had her head tipped back as she looked up at him.

  Her lips were too tempting. He bent and kissed her. She tasted so good, like nobody else, and the scent of her teased him.

  When he let her go, she scooped her hat up off the corner of his drawing table and bounced away down the stairs.

  That night, Ash and Tessa went out to dinner, which was great with Marnie. She grabbed a sandwich and then she took a long bath. By seven-thirty she was bathed and scented and waiting impatiently for Jericho, wearing nothing but the itty-bitty robe she’d worn the night before.

  Her cell rang at quarter to eight. Her heart
sank at the sound. She just knew it would be Jericho, getting a serious case of scruples again, calling to tell her he’d changed his mind about seeing her anymore.

  But then she looked at the display. Grandpa Oggie. At least it wasn’t Jericho bowing out. But still…

  Just what she needed. Her nosy grandpa telling her what to do.

  She made a face at the phone and considered not answering. But in the end, she knew he wouldn’t give up until he’d reached her and worn her ear off with platitudes and unwanted advice. And besides, a phone call was better than his showing up in the flesh.

  “Hi, Grandpa. How you doing?”

  “Marnie?” he shouted. For as long as she could remember, he always shouted when he talked on the phone. “That you?”

  She winced. Who else would it be? She turned the sound down about halfway. “Yes, Grandpa. It’s me. How are you?”

  “Speak up. Can’t hear you.”

  She shouted back at him. “How are you?”

  “Me? I’m old, that about says it all. And that ain’t the question anyway. I called to find out how you are.”

  “I’m doing fine, really. No need to worry over me.”

  “How long you been out there at Tessa’s?”

  She figured it was a trick question, just from his tone. But she answered, anyway. “Two weeks. As of today.”

  “Two damn weeks.” He mumbled something under his breath and then started yelling again. “Nobody tells me squat around here, you know that? I heard you and Mark Drury were quits from Linda Lou Beardsly just today. That hurt my pride, girl, to think that old battle-ax knew more about my own granddaughter than I did.” Linda Lou was almost as old as her grandpa, an upright church lady who knew everything that went on in town. “I went straight to Gina,” he said. “She confessed it was true.”

  “I asked them not to tell you. I…didn’t want to worry you.”

  Her grandpa let out one of his cackling rumbles of laughter. “You didn’t want me to drive out there and look after you. That’s what you didn’t want.”

  “Well, I—”

  “Don’t give me no lies, girl. I’m too old to wade through a big pile of bull crap. And you don’t have to worry about me showin’ up there. Not in the near future, anyway. I’m not getting around so good.”

  “What are you saying? Are you sick?” Her grandpa never got sick. Even though he was past ninety, she simply could not picture him ever becoming a truly old person—someone who needed other people to care for him. Someone fading away toward the end.

  “Hell, no, I ain’t sick. I never get sick.” At his words, a warm feeling of relief had her letting out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. He added, “My foot’s been botherin’ me somethin’ fierce lately, though.” He’d shot it half off years ago, supposedly while cleaning his rifle, although some claimed he did it on purpose—why, exactly, Marnie never knew. “And my old bones ache. That’s the worst thing about bein’ a relic. A man can’t come to the aid of his blood kin when they need him. There was a time I’d already be behind the wheel, on my way to you.”

  She shouted with great firmness, “Grandpa. I mean it. Do not come to Texas. I am doing great, really.”

  “Well, I can’t say as I’m surprised to hear that.”

  “Uh. You’re not?”

  “Hell, no. That Mark Drury’s a nice boy. But he never was the one for you.”

  “Gee, Grandpa. Now you tell me.”

  “Well, I hate to butt in with my opinions when nobody’s listenin’.”

  “Hah.”

  “What was that? Speak up.”

  “I said, oh yes. I know that.”

  He cackled some more. “You always were the feisty one. Remember that time you stole my Cadillac? You were what, eleven or so? And you always were a scrawny, short little thing. Your feet could barely reach the gas pedal. But you didn’t let that stop you. You’re lucky you didn’t run off the highway into the river and break your fool neck.”

  “Yes, Grandpa,” she answered wearily. “I remember.” Jericho’s bike. Her grandpa’s El Dorado. She really had to stop stealing people’s vehicles.

  “And that time you stole that big fishbowl of jaw-breakers from Santino’s store? You poured them all in a rubber boot and tossed the boot up in a tree, as I recall. Gina had to take you down to the sheriff’s station, where they gave you a lecture to try to scare some sense into you. I don’t believe it did a bit of good.”

  Marnie said nothing. She figured he’d only take any comment she made as encouragement to continue reminding her of all the crazy-ass stuff she’d done as a kid.

  More cackling from her grandfather’s end. “You were just trouble waiting to happen.”

  “Thanks,” she said sourly.

  “Until you got to be twelve or thirteen, that is. You seemed to get some control of yourself by then. And frankly, the past few years, since you been with the Drury boy, it’s like a light went out in you. I’m glad to hear you kicked over the traces and reclaimed your own real self.”

  Like she had a choice. But she had to admit that his praise was rather gratifying. “I’m working on it, Grandpa,” she shouted modestly.

  “I want you to call me, anytime. You need to talk, you pick up the phone.”

  Really, he was being kind of sweet. In spite of the endless reminders of her checkered past. “Thanks, Grandpa. I will.” She wouldn’t, but he didn’t need to know that.

  His rheumy chuckle rolled out. “You’re lyin’. But it’s okay. Never hurts to be nice to your old grandpa. You need money?”

  “Everyone asks me that.”

  “It’s ’cause we care.”

  “Yeah. I know. And no, thank you, I’m getting by just fine.”

  “Well, all right, then. I’ll be in touch.”

  The line went quiet. She hit the off button and set the phone down, glancing up fast when she heard the light tap on the glass door.

  Jericho.

  She jumped up and ran to let him in, grabbing him in a hug, tipping her head back to grin up at him. “You smell like soap and gasoline. And leather, too. It’s very sexy.”

  He laid his hand on the side of her face. “And you just plain smell good.” He kissed her, a tender, quick kiss. When she pulled away to close the blinds and the curtains, he said, “I watched you for a minute or two, talking on the phone. You looked happy.”

  “I was talking to my grandpa. He’s a crazy old guy who sticks his nose in everybody’s business. But, well, we all know it’s because he cares.”

  “You were shouting.”

  “Yeah. He’s hard of hearing—at least on the phone. He just wanted to know that I was doing okay. And to remind me of my various exploits as a kid.” She stepped up close to him again. She liked being close, liked the feel of his body heat, the look in his eyes. A hungry look. Hungry for her…

  He ran the rough pad of his index finger along the slight inner swell of her left breast, down into the deep V where her robe overlapped in the center of her chest—and then back up again, tracing the curve. The light touch sent a burning shiver through her, made her sigh in anticipation.

  She pulled the sash end and the robe fell open. He slid it off her shoulders.

  “You are something special,” he whispered, bending closer, nuzzling the sensitive skin near her ear. She tipped her head to give him better access and moaned low when his teeth closed over her earlobe. He bit down gently at first and then slowly increased the pressure. It didn’t hurt, exactly. But almost. He took the small, sharp, contained pressure right to the edge of pain and then he used his tongue to stroke the tender flesh that his teeth held captive.

  Moisture flooded between her legs. Her knees went wobbly.

  Not that the wobbliness mattered. She didn’t need to hold herself upright because he scooped her off her feet and carried her into the other room.

  Jericho loved the way she wrapped herself around him. Until now, he’d always preferred tall, shapely women, big women with full
hips and large breasts.

  Marnie wasn’t tall. She had slim hips and small, pretty breasts with perfect, delicate pink nipples. Not his type.

  Until now.

  Now, he was learning, there was a serious upside for a tall man with a smaller woman. She was easy to lift, all angles and tight flesh. There was a certain toughness to her, an inner steel, that made him feel he could do what he wanted with her, that it was safe to lose himself in the taste and feel of her, in the clean smell of her skin.

  Before her, small women kind of scared him. He was afraid of hurting them, of crushing them beneath his much greater size and weight.

  But not Marnie. She could take it. She was strong—and also slim and smooth. She felt so good, so right, so fearless—her legs clasping his waist, her arms twined around his neck, her straight brown hair brushing his shoulder as she tipped her head to capture his mouth, her quick, hot little tongue sliding between his lips, rubbing the edges of his teeth, teasing his own tongue, twining with it.

  She had herself so tightly wound around him, he could slide his hands along the velvet skin at the backs of her thighs without worrying he might drop her. He could cup her hard little bottom, dip his fingers into the slick, wet curls that covered her sex. She moaned into his mouth and speared her tongue in deeper as he stroked her, easing his fingers along the silky secret flesh, opening her, going hard as a flag pole at the wet, eager feel of her.

  Beside the bed, he slid his hands back under her thighs. She instantly picked up his cue and unhooked her ankles from around his waist. He guided her down so her feet touched the floor. She lowered her arms from around his neck, dragging her fingernails down his chest, one hard, long caress, to his belt buckle, which she went right to work on. He helped her, pulling his shirt off and throwing it behind him while she undid the buckle and then ripped his fly wide.

  She sank to her knees in front of him, her head tipped back, eyelids low and lazy. He looked down, into those eyes that challenged him and wanted him and also seemed to admire him, which kind of scared him a little.

  But not enough to insist they had to call it off. Truthfully, he didn’t know what it would take to get him to call it off with her.