Page 17 of Backed By You (Montgomery Brothers of Montana #3)

Callie

I wake up alone and with a thrumming between my thighs that has me sighing.

Last night was… Wow .

Beau went down on me three—no, four times before he finally let me take a break. I thought we’d have sex after, or he’d at least want something from me, but I fell asleep naked in his arms.

The jerk let me fall asleep!

Now, as I lie here in bed still naked and spent, I try to piece together what happened. Or why more didn’t happen?

Whiskey dick is my first assumption. Of course, that leads me to wonder how drunk he really was. Did he regret kissing me back? I mean, I did make the first move. Is he upset by that? Heck, does he remember any of it? Oh, god. What if he woke up and has no idea what happened?

I sit up in bed, startled as I hold a sheet to my chest, covering myself.

Did I…take advantage of him?

He was drunk. I was sober.

He told me to go back to sleep. I pulled him closer.

I kissed him…

He asked what we were doing.

I reach for my phone and rapidly text my fear process to Shea for clarification before realizing it’s 9:07 AM.

She’s an hour behind me in California. No way is she awake this early on a Sunday.

I drop my phone on the bed and run my hands through my tangled hair.

That’s when I notice Hulk isn’t in his bed.

The soft padding where he usually sleeps is empty.

Low voices drift through the door—Beau’s deep rumble and another voice I don’t recognize. I strain to hear what they’re saying, but I can’t make it out.

I slip out of bed, biting my lip at the remaining dampness between my legs, a reminder of just how thorough Beau was last night.

I grab the first clothes I can find—my sleep shorts and Beau’s T-shirt—and yank them on.

I tiptoe to the bedroom door and crack it open just enough to peek through.

Beau stands at the front door, his back to me as he signs something on a clipboard.

Hulk is sitting awkwardly beside him, his leg cocked at an angle.

He looks better this morning, more alert.

The delivery person pushes a giant box—so large it barely fits through the door—at Beau, who nods his thanks.

I stare at him. Confused and concerned about what he’s doing now.

He’s shirtless, wearing only yesterday’s jeans that hang low on his hips.

The muscles in his back flex as he maneuvers the enormous package inside, and I’m momentarily transfixed by the memory of those muscles moving above me, the way his skin felt under my fingertips.

The front door closes, and Beau turns toward the kitchen, pushing the box with him. That’s when I notice it—or rather, the absence of it—the old stove that’s been broken for weeks is gone .

Only a few dust bunnies remain as evidence that it was ever there.

I push the door open wider and step into the living room. “Beau?”

He turns, a slow grin lifting at the corner of his devilishly talented mouth. There’s more stubble darkening his jaw than he usually has. It looks good on him. Too good.

“Morning.”

I gesture to the massive package. “What is that?”

“This?” He pats the top of the box, his grin widening. “This is your new stove.”

“My new—” I break off, stunned. “You bought me a stove ?”

He laughs. “Yeah, well. Turns out, drunk me is surprisingly generous. I ordered it yesterday. Paid some ungodly amount for overnight shipping.”

I walk closer, examining the box. Sure enough, it’s a stainless-steel stove—the exact model I was eyeing online to match the fridge and microwave before my grumpy landlord told me no .

“But you said the replacement parts were coming,” I say, running my hand along the box.

He shrugs, appearing sheepish all of a sudden. “I was being stubborn and cheap. The old one was beyond saving. And someone told me recently it was pretty fuckin’ ugly.”

Joy bubbles up inside me, and without thinking, I launch myself at him, throwing my arms around his neck and pressing my lips to his. For a brief, wonderful moment, his hands find my waist, but then he tenses beneath me.

I pull back, uncertainty flooding through me. He doesn’t remember . I step back, putting a bit of space between us. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

His brows knit, gaze searching mine. “What’s wrong?”

“Thank you for the stove. It’s perfect, really.

But I—I don’t deserve it.” I need to get this out in the open or it’ll eat me alive.

The words tumble out in a rush, “You were drunk and I kissed you and things went further than they should have and I-I took advantage of you when you weren’t in a position to… you know…and I’m so, so sorry.”

He stares at me for a long, silent moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to my complete surprise, he bursts out laughing. Not just a chuckle, either, but full-bodied laughter that has him bending over, hands on his knees, tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

“What’s so funny?” I frown, feeling a bit defensive.

He tries to speak, but another wave of laughter takes him. Hulk looks between us, tail wagging uncertainly.

“Beau, if you don’t stop laughing right this second…”

He finally straightens, wiping his eyes. “Sorry, sorry,” he gasps, still fighting chuckles. “You think you took advantage of me ?”

“Well, yes! You were drunk, and I was sober, and—”

He closes the distance between us, cupping my face in his hands.

All humor is gone from his expression now, replaced by an intensity that makes my breath catch.

“Callie,” he says, his voice low and serious.

“I wasn’t that drunk. I knew exactly what I was doing last night. Every single moment of it.”

“But you never—” I swallow hard. “You didn’t let me touch you. You didn’t want to—”

“Oh, trust me, I want to.” His thumbs stroke over my cheekbones.

“Then why?” The question comes out as barely more than a whisper, my self-consciousness shining through.

His gaze softens. “It’s been a while for me,” he says. “And if it ever leads to that again, I don’t want there to be any regrets.”

I stare at him, speechless. This isn’t the gruff, emotionally unavailable Beau I’ve come to know. This is someone else entirely. Someone vulnerable and honest and so much more than I ever expected.

“So, we’re okay?” I ask, needing to be sure.

In answer, he leans down and kisses me, soft and sweet and full of promise. When he pulls back, there’s a smile playing on his lips. “You can take advantage of me anytime, sweetheart.”

I scoff, slapping him playfully on the arm. He laughs, pulling me against his chest. I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “I’ll remember that for next time,” I quip, then glance at the massive box beside us. “I suppose if we want breakfast, we should install this thing.”

His gaze darkens and he grips my ass as he kisses me. His lips are sure and firm against mine. He kneads my ass in his rough hands as his tongue delves into my mouth. Greedy and yearning. I melt into him.

I will never tire of this man’s mouth.

When he pulls away, I’m gasping for air and begging for more. “What was that for?”

“The thought of you,” he groans the words, “making me breakfast and wearing nothing but that dog-themed apron you have hanging behind you.”

I glance over my shoulder at the apron in question and look back at him with a giggle, my hands running over his chest. “That could be arranged.”

Beau growls low, his girth growing against my stomach. “I’ll tell you what, help me get this set up, and afterward, I’ll have you for breakfast instead.”

Four times, Callie. Four times .

I bite my lip. “Deal.”

His answering smile is wicked and…

A sudden knock at the door has me jumping into Beau’s arms. I whip my head around, startled. Hulk barks, hobbling toward me. I shush him as I break away from Beau’s embrace and head for the window. “Did you order anything else?” I ask over my shoulder.

“No,” he grunts, following closely.

My stomach drops as I peer behind the curtain. What is he doing here? “Shit.”

“Who is it?”

“My dad,” I hiss, whipping around with wide eyes. If he sees me like this, I’ll never hear the end of it. “You need to go.”

Beau stiffens. “What?”

Panicked, I push him gently, urging him toward the back door. “Please.”

He grabs my forearms, his expression crestfallen and hard. No longer the playful, sexy Beau from a moment ago. “No.”

“Beau,” I whine. “You don’t understand. My father is—”

“Callie,” Dad calls from the other side of the door. He knocks again. Harder this time. “Open the door. I know you’re in there.”

I stare at Beau with pleading eyes, but his stance remains firm. His jaw ticking in what I can only assume is anger. I don’t blame him for being angry. I’m not prepared to explain this unexplainable thing that’s barely begun between us.

I may be twenty-eight, but Matthew Ryan still sees me as a gullible, na?ve teenager who saw the world through rose-colored glasses.

At the sound of another knock, I call back, “One second.” I whip off Beau’s shirt and toss it to him, then make a beeline for my bedroom, wincing as the rushed movement twinges my ankle without the walking boot on.

I grab the nearest sweater I can find and pull it over my head before returning to the front door.

Beau’s chest is covered— thank god —and I spare him one last pleading look.

His stance is firm. The stubborn jerk even crosses his arms over his annoyingly yummy chest just to make it one-thousand-percent clear he’s not leaving.

Fine. If he wants to meet him, he’ll meet him all right.

I take a deep breath and open the door. My father stands tall and rigid on my front porch, his usual salt and pepper hair sporting more salt these days.

Slacks and a tucked-in polo complete his overbearing father attire.

His height is comparable to the asshat behind me.

Although my father is slimmer, not as broad, or muscular.

But he has all the bite of a California rattlesnake to make up for it.

Dad’s expression morphs three times in the span of a second. Annoyance to relief to suspicion. “Cal,” he starts, his gaze shifting between my face and beyond.

“Hi, Dad.” I pain a smile—and that’s exactly what it feels like: pain . “I didn’t know you were coming.”

He harrumphs. “Are you going to invite me in?”

He doesn’t respond to my query or acknowledge that I have company. He’s here for a reason, and there’s no stopping him when his mind is set.

“Right.” I force a laugh, waving him in. “Silly me. I must still be waking up. Come in.”

Dad steps inside, his sharp eyes immediately taking inventory of the cabin. They zero in on Beau standing near the kitchen with his arms still crossed, looking every bit the intimidating mountain man he can be when he wants to.

“Dad, this is Beau,” I say, my voice artificially bright. “He’s my…landlord.” The word tastes sour in my mouth after what we shared last night and this morning.

Beau’s stoic expression never falters. He extends a hand to my father, his voice clipped and formal—nothing like the warm, teasing tone he used with me. “Beau Montgomery.”

Dad shakes his hand, sizing him up. “Matthew Ryan. Callie’s father.”

“Good to meet you, sir.”

The silence stretches uncomfortably. Beau’s jaw is tight, and I can practically feel the tension radiating off him. This isn’t the flirtatious, affectionate man who was promising me another round of orgasms a few minutes ago.

“Beau is, um, here to install my new stove,” I say quickly, gesturing toward the box. “The old one finally gave up.”

Dad huffs, eyeing Beau. “I see. Well, that’s convenient timing.” He continues, turning to me, “We’ll have breakfast in town while he works. Give him some space to get the job done.”

I blink. “Oh, um, I— Sure. That sounds good.” I glance at Beau out of the corner of my eye, hoping to gauge his reaction, but his expression remains unreadable. “I need to shower and get ready first,” I add.

Beau clears his throat. “Actually, I have to run a few errands this morning. I’ll be back shortly and have this put in before you get back.”

My heart sinks. It’s obviously a lie, but I can’t exactly call him out on it in front of my father. “Of course,” I manage, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice.

Beau’s face is neutral—professional, even—as he pulls on his boots by the door. I’m painfully aware of how he avoids looking at me. The easy intimacy we shared is gone, replaced by a wall I recognize all too well.

“It was nice meeting you, Mr. Ryan,” Beau says, nodding to my father.

“Likewise.”

Beau finally looks at me, and the coolness in his eyes makes my chest ache. He reaches for the door, and I follow, desperate to say something, anything, to fix whatever just fell off course between us.

“Beau,” I start, but he’s already outside and down the porch steps.

“Enjoy your breakfast,” he says without looking back, his shoulders rigid.

I stand in the doorway, watching him hop in his truck and leave to put as much distance between us as possible.

He’s my landlord . Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why couldn’t I say he’s a friend? A good friend? What I should’ve said is, Dad, this is the man who saved Hulk and me . Gushed about him, maybe. Said he’s been taking care of me, sort of.

I did none of that.

Instead, I gave him the worst title anyone could be described as: Landlord.

“Callie?”

Dad’s voice snaps me back to reality. I close the door and turn around, forcing another smile.

“Sorry,” I say, my voice steadier than how I feel.

“I’ll just be a minute.” I need to shower, to think, to figure out how to approach Beau after this.

Unfortunately, it’ll have to wait. For now, I have to deal with my father, and whatever reason he has for this unannounced visit.

“Take your time,” Dad says, settling onto the couch. Hulk follows, eager to greet the long-familiar human.

At least someone’s happy about this visit .

I walk to the bedroom, my mind racing as the door closes behind me.

How did everything go from perfect to completely screwed up in minutes?