Their Reckless Bride (Bridgewater Ménage Series Book 11) Page 3

  I pursed my lips, narrowed my gaze. “You two are no gentlemen.”

  They shook their heads slowly and chuckled.

  “Never said we were,” the sheriff replied.

  The other thumbed over his shoulder. “But we’re not like the Grove gang. Our intentions are honorable.”

  My mouth fell open and I sputtered. “Honorable? Honorable? How can you be honorable if you intend to watch a woman… a stranger, bathe in a creek? Naked.” I added the last for clarification.

  They both looked bemused now. “How else would you bathe besides naked?”

  I rolled my eyes and screeched. Reaching out, I grabbed the soap that was still held out on offer and walked up the creek. Just because I took it from him didn’t mean I was going to bathe. I just couldn’t stare at the attractive man holding the sliver of my favorite soap in his large hand. It seemed so… intimate.

  “Very well. I’m Charlie and the sheriff’s Hank,” the red-haired man said as way of introduction. “Now we’re not strangers.”

  Spinning on my heel to face them again, I gave them a dark, exasperated stare. “You are… brutes!”

  They really weren’t. I knew brutes and these two weren’t them. I didn’t know of any other way to behave but to be defensive. To snarl and claw. To fight and push them away. Keeping them at a distance, even if it meant they didn’t like me, was safe.

  The sheriff tipped his head back and laughed.

  “What do you want with me?” I asked, completely confused. Why weren’t they upset? Why weren’t the calling me names like bitch or worthless female? While he’d kissed me, it was full of intent, but not molestation. Not assault.

  “Discovering the perfection that’s hidden beneath those horrible men’s clothes?” Hank asked. “Besides seeing your naked body dripping wet? Watching your hand slide a bar of soap over your breasts? Seeing your hair long and unbraided? Getting a glimpse of your pussy and wondering if it’s wet because of us or the creek?”

  My mouth fell open and no words came out. No ire. No rebuttal. I’d never been spoken to in such a manner. Barton Finch had told me what he was going to do to me—fuck every one of your holes until you’re all stretched out and useless—but that was nothing like the sheriff’s words. His made me feel… desired.

  The way both of them stared at me, with heated, intense gazes, made me shiver. Made me want to strip bare for them and let them look their fill. Somehow, I’d made them look that way, and I felt oddly powerful in a way I never had before.

  Charlie put his hand at the front of his pants and… rearranged himself. When he moved his hand away, I could only stare. There. Beneath his dark pants was a bulge. No… a very large, very obvious bulge that had the shape of a, of a… of fuck, a lead pipe. It angled upward toward his belt and I would swear it grew as I watched.

  “We want you,” he said finally.

  “I’m not offering,” I countered, licking my lips. I had to remain vigilant in my restraint, even if these two were so overwhelming it felt like the creek was rising up and about to wash me away. Earlier, Barton Finch had been all over me and he’d made me feel cheap. Dirty. Worthless. And now, these two wanted the same thing and I felt completely different. Why? I didn’t understand.

  Their gazes raked over me. “Yes, we can see that. You’ve done everything possible to hide that you’re a woman. Why is that?” he asked, stepping closer, then closer still.

  “It’s none of your business,” I snapped. “I saved your life, you’ve given your thanks. Now, you may go.”

  “Being sassy isn’t going to help you, love,” Charlie said. This close, I could see his brows were a darker shade of red, similar in color to the whiskers on his jaw. His eyes were mesmerizing, an emerald green. I was so used to seeing menace and evil when a man looked at me. With him, it was clear interest, no malice.

  The sheriff grunted. “It’s only going to get you spanked.”

  Appalled… and aroused, I spun to look at him, then stormed over to him, poked his chest. “Enough! Leave me the fuck alone.” I poked him again—felt how densely muscled he was—then pointed toward the west. “Get on your horses and ride out of here.”

  I was used to Father turning puce and his veins bulging. I’d never raise my voice to him in such a manner. I’d learned at a young age his temper quickly flared like a lightning strike on a dry prairie. I’d never poke him in the chest. Never intentionally rile him.

  But the sheriff… his expression didn’t change. He didn’t even blink when his arm banded about my waist and pulled me tightly into him. I gasped at the hard feel of him. He tugged down the back of my pants. Loose on my hips to begin with since they were an old pair of Travis’, they easily slid down my thighs, even with my squirming. His free hand came down on my bottom with a resounding spank.

  “Hey!”

  “That is not the language of a lady,” he said, his voice low and even. He wasn’t shouting. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even holding me with aggression. I tested his grip and though it wouldn’t relent, it wasn’t painful. He wasn’t hurting me. Well, my stinging bottom disagreed, but he hadn’t hit me like my father had. This was a reprimand of a different kind.

  With that one stunning action, I felt equally appalled and oddly comforted.

  Regardless, I would not falter before either of them. Through gritted teeth, I said, “I thought it would be obvious to you, I’m not a lady.”

  That should drive them away. No man—or men—would want me. They wanted a delicate flower who laughed and simpered, preened over a new hat or the pretty color of a new dress.

  He spanked me again. “Very well, then I won’t treat you like one.” He scooped me up in his arms like a bride being carried across the threshold. Instead of entering the shanty and raping me, which had been my immediate thought, he walked up the edge of the creek, bent down and dropped me unceremoniously into cool water. I screeched and sputtered at the sudden feel of the cold water, my already sore, bare bottom resting on the sandy bottom. My knees were bent in front of me, the top of my pants caught on my thighs from when he’d tugged them down. The water wasn’t overly deep, it didn’t even reach my shoulders, but I was wet and furious.

  “You need to cool off, little wildcat.” He looked down at me, arms crossed over his chest once again.

  I pushed my braid over my shoulder, felt the long tail wet the back of my shirt and tried to catch my breath.

  “I should have let them shoot you,” I said, my breathing ragged, my hands in fists as I looked up at them. Smug. And dry.

  “And I should have kissed you better,” he countered. “Maybe that would have tamed you a bit.”

  4

  C HARLIE

  “TAMED ME?” she repeated. “As if that is fucking possible.”

  I had no doubt she added the swear word out of spite alone, and I tried not to grin. “That mouth would be too busy for talk like that,” I added, staring down at the sodden, fuming woman.

  Fuck, she was gorgeous. Feisty, confident, prickly. She was the most unladylike female I’d ever met, but also the most stunning. The most appealing. Perhaps because she had no idea how utterly feminine she was beneath the bravado and men’s clothing. Her lack of guile, her… innocence was so fucking alluring.

  Me, Charlie Pine, of the Meadowlark School for Wayward Boys of London, England, found a woman who wore pants and who chose to—it seemed—live in a dilapidated shack to be the One. I’d grown up in a fucking orphanage, not a kind place to be a child. Always hungry, always cold in the winter, threadbare clothing, no love, I’d longed for a family of my own, but never had. I still did. But with a woman who wore pants? Hell, I’d always imagined a mild maiden in pink frocks with fair hair and perfect manners. A sweet thing.

  Fuck, look what my heart—and cock—wanted. A pants-wearing, sassy miss who could shoot the wings off a fly and peel paint off a house with her swearing.

  My cock was telling me mine and my balls were full, heavy and aching to empty into her. I wanted
to watch her writhe on my cock and put all that wildness into fucking instead of fuming.

  I wanted to claim her forever. Insane, yes. Ridiculous, even. We didn’t even know her name. My cock didn’t care and neither did my heart.

  I’d been in town with Hank when word came the bank had been robbed. The bank with my money in it. The money I’d earned breaking my back in the depths of a copper mine in Butte, then eventually becoming part owner. I knew hard, miserable work. I’d grown up with nothing, fought to get to where I was today. I had wealth, but I didn’t want it for fancy clothes or fine furniture. I didn’t give a shit about any of that. I just wanted the peace of mind knowing that I would never go to bed hungry. I’d never be without a coat or shoes.

  Yes, it was the sheriff’s job to bring the fuckers to justice, but I’d had to help. Six years with the British army in the tiny middle eastern country of Mohamir had trained me to root out the enemy. No fucking way would those bastards get away with it this time. And since they had robbed within Hank’s jurisdiction and were the ones who’d killed his father, he’d been thrilled—and focused—to exact revenge. I was surprised then, when he’d left them on the ground and gone after her. Retribution had been at the heart of his every action since his dad died. Hell, if anything, he’d have gone after the third member of their dangerous group. Two down… literally, and one was left standing. Somewhere.

  It hadn’t been their first hold up. They’d struck Bozeman, then Travis Point, Millerton, Riverdale and now Simms. They’d robbed across the southwest portion of the territory, stealing money from more people than just me. Killing more loved ones than just Hank’s father.

  I was sure Hank would be the first to admit we’d been stupid riding into that turn below the bluff, practically getting caught with our pants around our ankles and our hands on our cocks. I’d never expected the Groves to linger that close to town, to turn back and sit in wait to finish off those hunting them like coyotes in a hen house. All the other times, they’d made away with the money then fled to whatever rock they lived under to hide out. But cutting us off with the ambush, it took their evil to a new level. They hadn’t just wanted money, they’d wanted to kill, too.

  They had no conscience. No morals of any kind. They needed to be brought down like the rabid dogs they were.

  And yet we hadn’t been the ones to do it. She’d done it.

  She’d saved us… whoever the hell she was. Her aim was true, even from a distance. And fuck if that hadn’t been hot. There was no doubt in my mind if she’d wanted those two men dead, they’d be buzzard feed right now. Instead, she’d ensured they were injured enough to be unable to flee. Hell, they couldn’t even stand up. A gunshot wound, jail and a noose were a miserable fate. Did she know the men? Did she hate them so much she wanted them to suffer? Or had she just been sitting up on the bluff, picking wildflowers and happened to witness our trouble and got lucky firing a gun?

  The last was highly doubtful. Her shooting hadn’t been luck, it had been skill.

  We should have dealt with the Grove men and their injuries, but we’d gotten the money they’d stolen. They could suffer for a while, like they’d made others. This woman was a puzzle I wished to solve. Fuck, more than that. One look up at her on the bluff and I’d known then and there she’d be ours. Hank and I would claim her together. He might not have been in Mohamir with me to learn about their ways of two men claiming a woman together, but he lived at Bridgewater and saw it firsthand with the other couples. Kane and Ian with their Emma. Mason and Brody with Laurel.

  Yes, Hank wanted her, too. A good thing, for it was clear she needed two men to tame her.

  As for those two members of the Grove gang, we’d have them dragged back to town… eventually. From the wanted posters, it appeared it was Marcus and Travis Grove shot and bleeding. That left the third member still at large. We’d get him, but not today.

  Now, she was here. Right fucking here and I wasn’t letting her slip through my fingers. Her hair, a dark chestnut color, was in a long, single plait down her back. Something for a man to grip and hold onto as he took her from behind. A halo of soft curls which had come loose either clung to her damp skin or caught the bright sunlight, showing off glints of red and gold. She looked a little mussed, as if she’d been fucked a few times. I’d been able to tell her gender as she stood high above us on the bluff, even in the awful clothing. My cock just knew.

  Up close, the line of her neck was delicate, even the slope of her brow. Her lips, when not twisted in a frown or grimace, were full and tinged a lovely shade of pink. That had me wondering if other parts of her were just as pink.

  My gaze dropped to her shirt, wet and translucent. I could see hints of a pale belly through the clear water, but she wore something beneath the shirt that covered her breasts, and it wasn’t a corset. Not even the slightest hint of curves could be seen. It was the fact that her nipples, which had to be rock hard from the cool water, were not visible that had me thinking her body was hidden beneath more than just a men’s shirt and pants.

  And I wanted to find out. I wanted to discover every secret inch of her. While women were taught to keep their bodies and virtue hidden until they married, this one was taking it to the extreme. I doubted it was for pious reasons either.

  Then why?

  Leaning forward, I held out my hand. “Come on, love. Out of there.”

  She looked up at me, then my hand, considering. A smart move because while I did wish to assist her from the water, I also wanted her before me so I could finish getting those pants off of her, and everything else she wore. I wanted her naked.

  As Hank had said, we weren’t gentlemen. After what had almost happened, it was a reminder life was short, and that we should take what we wanted, to find pleasure and happiness where we could. I knew we’d find both with her, not just in this moment, but for the rest of our lives.

  She reached up—knew she truly wasn’t afraid of us—and I took her wet hand in mine, tugged, then helped her onto the soft bank in front of me, water sluicing off of her. Her free hand was at the top of her pants, trying to work them up over her bottom. Drenched, she was having little success. Unfortunately, we couldn’t see much more than a hint of pale ass since her shirt tail—damn the man she stole it from—was long.

  I reached forward to help, but she swatted my assistance away.

  “Want to go back in the water?” Hank asked and while she stopped fighting me, she glared at him.

  “No matter how much I want these clothes off of you,” I said, working the pants up over her wide hips. “I’m putting them back on.”

  She looked up at me through her lashes, clearly wary. Surprised, even. “Why?”

  “Why?” I echoed. “Why am I putting them back on, or why do I want the clothes off you?”

  She pursed her lips, considered. “Both, I guess.”

  “Because when we get you naked, we want you eager and willing, not ornery.”

  “I’m…” She was about to say more, then shut her mouth. She looked up at me with a hint of confusion. She didn’t want us, but yet, she did.

  “Willing?” I asked, eyeing her. I wouldn’t fuck her, but I would push her to see how skittish she really was. Since my hand was resting on her hip, I had easy opportunity to slide it down inside the front of her pants to see just how willing she was.

  She gasped and wrapped her hands about my wrist, automatically attempted to step back because I’d shocked her. A man didn’t stick his hand down a woman’s pants—not that any other woman wore them.

  But the second I found her center, found her folds hot, slick and silky soft, she gasped, then stilled. She still held my forearm, but was no longer trying to push me away.

  “You’re eager,” I said, glancing down at the surprised look on her face. When I found her clit, all hard and swollen for me, her cheeks flushed and her gaze softened. Blurry. A breathy moan slipped from her lips.

  I slipped a finger into her. So fucking tight. She went up on her to
es at the entry, but I didn’t make it further than the first knuckle, she was that snug.

  “A little finger fuck and you’d be willing.” I pulled out, circled her entrance that was now dripping, then back in. Eyeing her, I watched every flick of emotion, of surprise, pleasure, awakening. Fuck, she was perfect.

  “What’s your name?” I asked, gently circling her clit with my thumb as I continued to slide only part of my finger in and out of her pussy.

  “Grace!” she shouted, her hips rolling in the most carnal of ways from that light caress.

  Grace.

  She went lax in Hank’s hold. All the stiffness, the prickliness disappeared at her first stirrings of arousal. Instead of sass, all that escaped her lips were sounds of need.

  She was remarkably responsive, so sensitive I was sure I could bring her to climax within seconds.

  But no matter how much my cock ached to strip those pants off her, toss her on the soft ground and break open that virgin pussy, I wouldn’t do it.

  Not like this. Oh, she wanted it, but only because it was new. She didn’t want us. Hell, she was right. We were strangers and while we knew we wanted to keep her forever, she didn’t know that. Until she came to us begging and pleading to fill her up, we’d abstain from claiming her in every way. That didn’t mean we weren’t keeping her, but I’d stop. For now.

  Inwardly, I groaned when I pulled my finger from her, from her pants. Lifting it to my nose, I breathed in her musky scent, then sucked the digit clean, all the while she watched.

  Sweet. Sticky. Like wild fruit eager to be picked.

  And if we had to go without, then she would, too.

  “Let’s go, sweetheart,” Hank said, his voice rough with his own need. “The sooner we get to Bridgewater, the sooner we can take care of that pussy.”

  She went rigid then, remembered herself, remembered she disliked us.

  “No fucking way.” Her hand went to her pants as if she knew me getting in them could get her to change her mind. “I’m staying here.”