Page 37 of Cruelest Contract (Storm’s Eye Ranch)

Julian meets his stare. “Thanks for standing up with me today.”

Tye cocks his head and a handful of silently emotional seconds pass before he responds. “As long as I’m standing, brother, I’ll stand with you. Never forget that.”

What a surprise to find that Tye, with his vulgar jokes and boisterous nature, has a sensitive side.

He turns and begins briskly walking back the way we came, disappearing around the bend within seconds.

Julian smiles at me. “Are you ready to go in?”

I smile back and tighten my grip on him. “Yes.”

He carries me over the threshold and I can’t account for the sudden flutter of anxiety.

I shouldn’t be nervous. This is what I’ve been waiting for.

I’ve fantasized about what kind of lover Julian will be, replaying that shower scene in my head over and over like a forbidden movie while getting myself off.

Julian sets me down and immediately shuts the door, turning his attention to a square digital panel mounted beside the door frame. He presses a few buttons and there’s a distinctive beep. A light turns red.

“What does that do?” I ask.

He double checks the bolt on the door. “Just setting the alarm,” he says and conducts one more check of the panel before facing me. “I had a new system installed in the cabin. I wanted to make sure you feel completely safe.”

I do feel safe. I always feel safe with him. That’s not the reason my heart is jumping around. We’re alone, just like I wanted. But reality is finally hitting me that I really haven’t spent much time with Julian. And now he’s my husband.

He steps away from the door and studies me. “It’s not too late,” he says.

“For what?” I ask, panicked that my inner conflict shows up on my face.

“To get out of town for a few days. We can go anywhere you want, Cecilia.”

I take a look around the cabin. The floorplan is wide open with a full kitchen, a dining nook, a comfortable living room area.

There are no walls around the bedroom. An interior door presumably leads to a bathroom.

The square footage is significantly larger than my one bedroom Arizona apartment and yet the vibe is far cozier with knotty hardwood floors and rustic reclaimed wood panels nailed to the walls.

Cobalt blue ceramic vases have been placed on every table.

All are filled with flowers. Pink roses, naturally.

My favorite. The same color as the petals that are strewn around the base of the king-sized bed.

“I wouldn’t want to go anywhere else,” I say. “This is perfect.”

Julian nods and I could swear there’s a trace of smugness on his face. He knew I would love the cabin. I only wish I could read him half as clearly as he reads me.

My eyes stray to a brown leather recliner and I do a double take. “Is that a weighted blanket? Do you sleep with one too?”

As soon as the question leaves my mouth I realize how silly it sounds. There’s no way the very thick pink knitted weighted blanket folded over the back of the chair came from his room.

He watches as my thoughts evolve. “It’s for you,” he says. “I figured you could always use a spare.”

More than ever, I’m overwhelmed by how much trouble he goes to in order to make sure I’m comfortable.

“I used to have so much trouble sleeping,” I admit. “My old therapist recommended trying one. She explained how the weight calms the nervous system and reduces anxiety in people with a history of trauma.”

What am I doing? I should sew my lips shut. Babbling about therapy and trauma isn’t exactly hot.

But Julian doesn’t appear bothered. He listens to every word and nods. “Makes sense.”

No follow up comments pop into my head. I’m a blank slate.

A small black remote is lying on the coffee table and Julian picks it up. He fiddles with the controls for a few seconds and a whirring sound emits from every direction while shades gradually lower over the windows. The lights dim to half power.

As promised, my barrel-sized rolling suitcase is already here, parked alongside the wall. A far smaller black duffel bag, presumably Julian’s, sits beside it.

I wrack my brain for a sexy comment. None are available. I should be capable of doing something more spicy and alluring than gawking in the middle of the room.

Tye’s bottle is still cradled in my arms. The last time I had alcohol was the night out in Laramie. Julian was amused when I didn’t take his warning seriously. Then I proved him right by getting tipsy and falling into his arms. Still, maybe I could use a little help to loosen up.

“Should we celebrate with a drink?” I ask.

Julian prowls closer. He plucks the bottle from my hand and considers the label. “We’ll get to that,” he says and sets the bottle down on the coffee table.

There’s no longer a need for me to be wearing his tux jacket. It’s not cold in here. If anything, my skin feels overheated, feverish. I blame my pounding heart for turning my blood into hot soup.

I remove the jacket and fold it over my arm, though I already miss being covered with something that belongs to him. “Thanks for the loan.”

Julian tosses the jacket on the sofa without taking his eyes off me. “How’s your hand?”

“Oh, it’s fine. I already took the bandage off.”

My voice kind of falls away on the last syllable because Julian takes my hand to see for himself. He examines my forefinger and touches his lips to the tiny cut.

“I’m sorry about that,” he says. “And about the dance too. I know you explicitly said you didn’t want any dancing.”

Yes, I did say that. It’s an old hangup, going way back to the era when I was still limping and spending three days a week at physical therapy. My hard and fast No Dancing rule simply became a habit.

“I really didn’t mind,” I say. “It was obviously important to your father.”

I’m unprepared when a deeply engraved memory chooses this moment to surface. Another day, another couple’s first wedding dance and my brother gazing at his bride as if she was his whole world. I’d forgotten my childish vow to marry a man who looked at me the exact same way.

What the hell did I know? I was thirteen. Everything I was so sure of was about to shatter in a hail of bullets.

“Come here, honey.” Julian, a master of reading my changing moods, gathers me in his strong arms.

I lean into this protective embrace with eagerness, my cheek pressing to his broad chest. His shirt, now creased, is also partially unbuttoned and I love the feel of his skin touching my face.

The thud of his heartbeat is steady and sure.

He strokes my hair and kisses the top of my head.

Little by little, all doubt and angst melts away.

I’m with my husband and I’m home.

Soon enough, tenderness gives way to more basic needs. I can feel how hard he is. I could even feel him when we were dancing. My own arousal spikes with an answering ache between my legs. Our heartbeats quicken together. His breath catches when I press a kiss to his chest.

“I want you so much,” I whisper.

He massages the back of my neck more deeply, his thumb circling a sensitive spot at the base of my skull. “You have me, Cecilia.” His mouth finds mine and he teases me with a taste of his tongue. “Now turn around.”

Unsure about what he has in mind, I obey anyway. Uncertainty twines with desire. The resulting thrill is seductive. He shocked me when he cut my panties off. He shocked me with the things he said. He will likely shock me now.

Julian has the power to be all things at once. He can be gentle and considerate. Then savage and insistent. The qualities of a king.

He pushes my hair out of the way and it falls over my right shoulder.

His fingertips linger on my skin until he succeeds at eliciting a shiver.

Then he works at the zipper. He doesn’t tear the fabric or break the dress apart.

He slides the zipper down slowly, taking his time.

And he knows exactly what he’s doing. Every second only heightens the anticipation.

Julian slips the sleeves from my shoulders and the entire dress glides to the floor.

“Step out,” he instructs.

My legs are unsteady as I leave the puddle of fabric. Julian’s hands settle on my waist and he turns me around to face him.

“Surprised you didn’t cut it off.” I rise up on my tiptoes, trying to match my hips to his. He’s bigger than any other man I’ve been with. The contest isn’t even close. I’m still wearing a sheer light pink slip over my bra and panties. My boots, formerly hidden by my long gown, are also still on.

Julian pulls back to survey my body with naked lust. He hooks the strap of my slip around one finger. His voice is husky. “Didn’t think you’d want your wedding dress destroyed.”

“You’re right about that.”

He smirks like no one else, always infinitely sure of himself. “Then it’s a good thing I didn’t get too rough.”

I’m so hungry to see more of him. I start unbuttoning his shirt with fingers that tremble only slightly. His hand moves to my hair, sifting through the long strands while I’m busy plucking buttons free.

I have to untuck his shirt to reach the last button. His chest is nothing short of magnificent. I’ve seen it before and still I’m amazed. There aren’t words enough for how badly I need him inside me. The wish to be daring, adventurous, is a feeling inspired only by him. No one else, not ever.

I touch his black leather belt and raise my eyes to his. “Maybe I want you to be a little rough.”

Julian’s sharp intake of breath is intensely satisfying. He’s not the only one with the power to surprise. There’s pressure now as he winds a section of my hair around his fist. He pulls lightly and lowers his head until I feel his breath on my neck.

“Noted,” he whispers and drags his teeth over my skin, producing the slightest hint of pain as he sucks hard enough to leave a mark.