Cherise Sinclair - This is who I am

He started slowly, pulling almost all the way out before slamming into her. The shock wave set off little convulsions again. As he went faster, his face grew tighter and the cords stood out on his neck.

His gaze met hers, his eyes hot. “More.” Bracing himself on one arm, he put his elbow under her knee and lifted her leg up. The next thrust was far deeper.

As he hammered into her, the erotically satisfying feeling of being positioned for his use swept through her. Take me as you want.

He rested his forehead against hers, his body stiffened with release, and his groan was low and rumbling and beautiful.

She pulled him closer, cherishing the knowledge of pleasing him. She wanted to give him everything. Her eyes closed for a moment. God, God, she shouldn’t—couldn’t—fall for this man.

He released her leg and gathered her close, cuddling her to him in that disconcertingly tender way he had. When he rubbed his cheek against hers, his face softer than she’d ever seen it, she knew she was in trouble.

The next morning, Sam wakened to the sound of a woman singing. Ice circled his spine, and his jaws clenched so tightly his teeth ground together. Nancy. How had she gotten in?

He rolled out of bed, his feet hitting the floor with a thump. In the bathroom. He yanked open the door. “How the hell did you get—”

By the counter, the naked woman spun, turned white, and backed up until she hit the wall. One hand clutched a towel to her chest. Big brown eyes, red hair.

He’d just scared the crap out of Linda.

Wake up, Davies, you idiot. He sagged against the door frame. “Hell. Sorry.”

As color returned to her face, she wrapped the dark blue bath towel around her. “What was that all about?” Soft voice. Firm. Expecting an answer. There was a downside to involvement with an intelligent, older woman.

“I woke up and heard singing.” He stopped. There was no way to explain.

“You don’t like the blues?”

“Thought you were someone else.” He couldn’t go further.

Her mouth opened in a silent oh. “Your ex-wife.” After securing her towel more firmly, she moved closer and rested her hand on his chest. Brave woman—her breathing was still fast. He’d scared her badly. “She liked to sing?”

The memories of Nancy singing were…ugly, and his face tightened, but Linda’s soft hand stayed warm against his skin. “Sometimes.” Whenever she was high.

“Why would that bother you so much?” Her brows together, she waited, expecting more.

Why? The short bursts of memories clawed at his gut. How Nancy sang as she shattered Nicole’s soccer trophies. Danced while throwing his grandfather’s carvings into the fireplace. She hadn’t sung for happiness, just destruction. He needed to explain, to erase Linda’s unhappiness, but his jaw was clamped shut.

His silence hurt her, and her soft lips trembled before she stepped back. “Oh, Sam.” She shook her head. “She must have given you a horrible time, and I’m sorry. But I can’t stop singing. It’s part of who I am.”

It was. Music followed her everywhere. He liked that about her. “Don’t stop.”

“Can you tell me—”

He shook his head. Not going to talk about Nancy. Never.

The little mama came out. “You should talk to me.” She crossed her arms over her gorgeous breasts. “We need to discuss this.”

“Don’t think so.” As he forced his muscles to relax, he smiled slowly. Seems he had a bossy masochist trapped in his bathroom. Looked like a fine way to improve his mood. “I figure you owe me for starting my day off so badly.”

“I owe you?”

He set her hand on his shoulder. Watching her closely, he bent and slid his fingers down her inner thigh, finding a small welt from the night before. He pressed lightly, enough to hurt. More than that—enough to bring back her memories of how it had happened.

Her pupils dilated, her fingers on his bare shoulder curved, pulling him closer, as if needing more contact with his skin.

That he could do. He gathered her in, shoving her towel down in the process so her breasts rubbed against his chest. Her nipples jutted out, two points of extra pressure. “I haven’t had my shower yet,” he murmured in her ear. If he turned the water to ice-cold and held her under it, would she scream? “You can help me.”

“Aren’t you just a generous guy?” Pink washed into her face as he pressed his erection against her soft lower pelvis. “I’m not—”

A car horn sounded.

Now? Sam grunted in exasperation.

She glanced over her shoulder at the slightly open window. “Who is that?”

“Construction crew. Building a new stable.” His arms tightened. “Goddammit.”

His annoyance lessened at the sound of her husky laugh. She patted his cheek. “You’re just having a heck of a morning, aren’t you?”

* * *

Linda shifted her weight, smiling as the saddle creaked under her. The soft sounds of hooves on the dirt trail and the rattle of bridles spelled peace in the quiet afternoon. As the trees thinned, the late afternoon sun warmed her shoulders. It had been a lovely day.

After Sam had returned from opening his gate, he’d cooked her a breakfast of French toast and sausage. Unhealthy carbs and unhealthy fat. When she’d informed him that nothing in the entire meal was good for him, he’d only laughed. Unshaven, rumpled, heavy-eyed from sex and lack of sleep, the man was too sexy for words, even at the breakfast table.

And in the full light of day? On a dappled gelding, he led the way down the trail. Face it, the man was too sexy, period, and definitely outclassed a stodgy widow in her forties. He might be older than she was, but aside from his gray hair, he sure didn’t show it.

Must be all the work he did on his place. The horseback tour had led from a huge garden to acres of citrus groves to pastureland for his horses and cattle. The lushly overgrown creekside trail made a sweet finish to the ride.

As the trail opened up, Sam nudged his horse into a trot, and her horse followed suit. Ouch. Either she’d have to get better at riding, or Sam better stop walloping her bottom and other places that met a saddle. Gritting her teeth, she pulled her horse to a walk.

After a minute, Sam glanced over his shoulder. Then his slow grin appeared. “Bit sore, missy?”

When she glared at him, he laughed…but waited for her to catch up and stayed at a walking pace. The noise of construction soon filled the air as they neared the house and barns.

In the corral, Sam dismounted and tied his horse to the fence.

“We could have gone longer,” she protested as she swung down.

When he squeezed her tender bottom and she stiffened, he shook his head. “I like giving you pain, like making you hurt, but not this way. Don’t want you crippled.”

The man took her breath with his candidness. “Do you tell everyone you’re a sadist?”

He kissed the top of her head. “Don’t particularly care if people know, but I don’t talk about it.” He gave her a direct look. “Most people don’t talk about their private business—like what they did in bed the night before. Why would sadists be any different?”

“Well. Guess that was a dumb question.”

He ran his finger down her cheek. “Got yourself quite a pack of worries, don’t you?”

As they walked out of the corral, Connagher trotted over. He’d been with them for most of the ride, then disappeared at the creek.

Sam ruffled the hair on the dog’s neck. “Anything to report?”

Conn wagged his tail as if in answer.

Linda tried to stifle her laugh and failed, getting her a raised eyebrow. “You really do sound like a sergeant sometimes.”

He snorted. “Been decades, girl.”

Maybe. But habits picked up as a teenager—or under stress—tended to endure. “Right. So, Sarge, did your four-footed soldier find anything interesting?”

“I like it when masochists get impertinent, you know.”

How could he create that curling of heat with just a few words and a look?

“Davies.” A skinny construction guy came around the corner of the stable. “Got a minute? The boss wants to check with you about the wiring.”

Sam hesitated, and Linda patted his arm. “I should be getting back anyway.”

“You’re spending the night.”

Her heart wanted to flutter, and she told it no. “Ah. Fine. Then I’ll just look around for a bit, okay?”

He ran his hand down her arm and nodded. “Won’t be long.”

* * *

Once their talk was concluded, Sam walked with Nolan King to where the contractor had parked. The last of the crew had just driven through the gates, returning the farm to quiet.

“That’s a pretty woman you got.” Nolan opened his truck door and paused. “She give up on being normal?”

“Getting there.”

King grinned, then swung into his truck.

After locking the front gate, Sam unsaddled the horses and turned them loose. Immediate tasks finished, he looked around. No redhead in sight. Had she gone up to the house? He whistled for Conn.

After a minute, the dog tore across the south pasture, ducked under the fence, and stopped in front of Sam.

“Good boy.” Sam tossed him a dog treat from his pocket. “Find Linda. Linda.” Conn usually needed longer to associate a name with a scent, but he’d strongly taken to the redhead. “Find Linda.”

A short bark indicated agreement. The dog did a quick circle of the corral, caught the trail, and headed off, bouncing in happiness at performing his favorite task.

Sam followed. Looked as if Linda had visited the chickens, checked the pasture, circled the construction, and headed down to the small pond. Partway there, Conn lifted his nose, caught her scent in the air, and gave his triumphant bay of I found her.

She was sitting on the bank of the pond, watching the ducks and an egret in the shallows. Her hair glinted red in the sun, and her cheeks were sunburned from their ride; he’d need to take care of that. When Conn charged up to her and knocked her backward with his enthusiastic greeting, she simply laughed.

The woman laughed in the same way she climaxed—nothing held back, open and delighted. A man could fall for that laugh. Hell.

She tilted her head back, and the dimple in her cheek appeared. “You found me.”

“Conn did.” Sam dropped down beside her, close enough to tell he liked the scent of his soap on her.

“When you said he kept track of people, I didn’t realize you meant he’d hunt for them.”

“Nicole taught him to play hide-and-seek. I took it from there. Working dogs need challenges, or they get into trouble.”

Linda scratched Conn’s neck in a way that would earn his lifelong devotion. “He’s pretty proud of himself.”

“Yep.” Sam ran his knuckles over her cheek, pink from the sun. “Been meaning to ask—you on the pill?”

“An implant.” Her mouth twisted. “A gift of the slavers, but I decided to leave it in place.”

Damn but he disliked raising ugly memories, but these were questions that needed to be asked. Should have done it before. “As a member of the Shadowlands, I get tested regularly.” And he knew that over the past few months, the ex-slaves had been checked often.

Her eyes narrowed. Then she caught where he was heading. Her lips tilted up. “You want to skip the condoms?”

“Hell, yes.”

Her laugh let him relax. Then she tilted her head. “As long as you’re not…with…anyone else, I’m okay with that.”

“Same goes, missy.” He traced her lips before giving her a level look. “I don’t share.”

He received the same look back. Damn, he liked this woman. “We’re on the same page, then.”

“Good enough. So there’s time before I need to start evening chores. You have anything you’d like to see or do?” He tugged on a lock of her hair. “I know what I’d prefer”—he smiled as her face flushed—“but you might need to walk tomorrow.” And, from the way she’d been shifting in the saddle, he knew how sore she was going to be.

“Oh.” The disappointment in her voice and her involuntary wiggle told him she’d be willing anyway.

He pulled her hair, dragging her until she was on her back in the soft grass. Enthusiasm should be rewarded.

The cold morning breeze off the Gulf whipped around Sam as he followed Linda into her beachfront store. After yesterday, she was walking a bit stiffly, but although he’d seen her wince off and on, she’d smiled each time. Probably enjoying the memory of how the soreness had occurred.