Page 13 of Lonesome Man (The Smith Brothers #4)

Chapter Ten

Tucker

“You want tea or coffee?” I called up the stairs.

“Tea, please,” Ruth called back.

We’d slept in, then I’d gone down on her because I desperately wanted to make her come again before we finally got up.

It was our last day together, and I was doing my best to ignore the dread that was a constant now whenever I thought about her getting on that plane, flying away and never coming back.

I knew better than this. I never got attached to the women I brought out here, but this one—she’d dug herself so deep under my skin that all week my stomach had coiled into knots whenever I thought about her leaving.

I had this—fuck—this stupid fucking urge riding me to ask her to stay, to beg her not to leave.

It’s only because you’ve got Ruth and Libby all mixed up in your head.

A ding came from the open laptop on the table.

I glanced over at the now glowing screen.

A message flashed up from Jessica at the escort service, the woman who organized my visits every year.

I shouldn’t, but I strode over to take a look.

It had to be Ruth’s travel times. Jessica always sent them the day before, but I hated to admit that I was kind of hoping there’d been a fuckup with her travel arrangements.

That there’d be no one to meet her when Cash dropped her off at the tiny airport at the bottom of the mountain and she’d have to stay with me for another few nights.

Hey Libs,

Just checking in and updating you with your travel times. I hope you’re having an amazing time? The girls have all been jealous…

Libs?

Why would Jessica call her that? Was she teasing her? Had Ruth told her the name I’d been calling her while we played? Jessica had always been super professional. It didn’t seem like something she’d do, honestly.

My gaze slid to Ruth’s script. It was still open, right there. The page was scrolled down so all I could see was the title.

FROM AFAR

I touched the mousepad, using it to bring the front page higher so I could see the rest of it.

Written by

Libby Brantford

I blinked down at the name, then fucking jerked back like I’d been struck by lightning.

What the fuck?

I read it again, and again, my brain struggling to understand, to process what the fuck I was looking at.

Libby Brantford.

Libby fucking Brantford.

No. I straightened, then leaned back and read it again. Then I clicked open the message from Jessica so it filled the screen, so I could scroll through their past messages. Her name was all over them, not just from while she was here with me, but from weeks ago. I kept scrolling—fucking months ago.

Her light tread reached me as she came down the stairs, and I turned when she reached the bottom.

She stared back at me, her eyes sparkling, but the longer she looked at me, the more her smile slipped. Her eyes slid to the laptop behind me, then shot back to me.

“Libby?” I choked out.

Her eyes flared, then she stepped toward me, her hands lifted like she was approaching a wild animal, or maybe a skittish one that was about to bolt.

“I can explain?—”

“So it is…it’s you?” My voice sounded as wrecked as I felt.

Her slender throat worked. “Yes,” she rasped and took another step toward me.

I stumbled back, confused. Fuck, I felt sick. “What the fuck is this? Why would you do this? I don’t…” I shoved my fingers through my hair. “I don’t understand.”

“Tuck,” she whispered. “Please, let me explain.”

When she tried to step closer, I put the table between us.

“Stay the fuck where you are,” I growled, betrayal and humiliation flooding me.

“Was this some twisted joke to you? You cut me off four years ago, then you come out here because what? You wanted to know what it was like to fuck me? Is that it? Are you that hard up in the city that you thought, I know what, I’ll go visit Tucker, pretend I’m someone else and see if I can fuck him up more than I already have? ”

“Tuck, no, please, you have to listen to me. I had no idea who I was coming to stay with?—”

“Bullshit,” I roared.

She froze, staring at me wide-eyed, and it took everything in me not to apologize for raising my voice at her. Jesus fucking Christ.

“I didn’t know it was you,” she whispered.

“I don’t fucking believe you, Libby. And even if I did, even if that was the truth, you still chose to keep who you are from me this entire time.

” A laugh burst from me, and it sounded dark, hateful, even to my own ears.

“No wonder you got so wet when I fucked you. You must have gotten off knowing just how much you’d fucked me up.

God, you must have thought I was pathetic.

That’s what all those questions were about when we were in the workshop, right?

You must have loved knowing I was still hung up on you so badly that I hired someone to pretend they were you. ”

“No,” she said. “I never thought that. I wanted to tell you, but then you said my name, and I…I knew?—”

“Just how much you’d messed with my head?”

“Tucker—”

“Were you afraid of me? Afraid of what I’d do if you told me?”

“No.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t pay you?”

She crossed her arms and shook her head. “God, no, I don’t want your money, I don’t?—”

“What, then? What was it that made you keep lying to me? If this is all some coincidence, why didn’t you tell me who the fuck you are?”

“Because I was scared that if I said who I was, that if I told you that every moment I was here with you, I was realizing what a huge fucking mistake I’d made, that I wouldn’t be able to leave, and I had to leave.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t stay here.”

I stared at her, my heart hammering in my chest. It felt like she’d plunged a fucking dagger in it. “Nah, Libs, I’ll be the one leaving,” I said, then strode out of the house, slammed the door behind me, got on the ATV, and tore out of the yard.

I couldn’t believe this was happening, that Libby, my Libby , was standing in my fucking kitchen.

That it had been her in my bed this whole fucking time.

No wonder I’d been so mixed up, so drawn to her.

Fuck, I thought it was bad enough when she stopped talking to me four years ago.

I’d never gotten over it, how the fuck was I going to get over this, knowing what I did now?

The look in her eyes when I made her laugh, when I made her come, the sound of her cries and moans, the taste of her lips, the way she felt when I was inside her, the perfection of sitting on the couch with her and just talking, the feel of her wrapped in my arms while she slept.

And after last night, I knew what it was like to make love to her.

How the fuck did I move on from this?

How the fuck was I going to survive?

Libby

Pushing away from the counter, I paced the kitchen again, my stomach in knots, my heart in shreds. What have I done?

The hurt on his face, the confusion, the anger.

I’d made everything so much worse. I’d planned to tell him today, this morning. I’d been practicing what I was going to say while I was in the shower, but it was too late, he’d found out on his own, and now he’d never let me try to explain.

It was nearly midnight. He’d been gone all day, and I was past worrying.

Striding back to the counter, I looked out the kitchen window again, like I had been every few minutes.

The sound of the ATV echoed in the distance. Finally. Thank god, he was okay.

I kept pacing, waiting for him to come inside, but he didn’t. Then the light in the workshop came on. Just one, the small window right at the top. I watched, not sure what to do, then the light went off again and everything remained still, quiet, and I realized, he wasn’t going to come inside.

I couldn’t leave it like this, my heart couldn’t take it.

It physically hurt knowing I’d caused him even more pain.

I wasn’t getting on that plane tomorrow with him thinking I’d used him and tricked him and that this wasn’t tearing me up as well.

I shoved my feet in my sneakers, then ran across the yard.

Opening the workshop door on silent hinges, I slipped inside.

The large space was draped in gloom, only the glow from the moon coming through the windows to light my way.

My gaze slid to the stairs on the other side of the huge space, leading up to the mezzanine.

Rounding the table, I made my way over, and headed up.

I didn’t announce myself. I wasn’t going to give him the opportunity to walk away from me again. When I reached the top of the stairs, I searched the shadows, but there was enough moonlight up here to see the bed, and that it wasn’t empty.

“Tucker?” I choked out.

“Go back to the house, Libby,” he said.

I shook my head, even though I wasn’t sure he could see me. “I’m not going without you.”

“You’ve been fine without me for four years.”

It was freezing, so I rushed to the bed, kicked off my shoes, slid off my jeans, and got in with him.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he said, and it sounded like he was talking through gritted teeth.

I wriggled over to his side. “You won’t come with me, then I’ll sleep here.”

“I don’t want you here,” he said roughly, his voice breaking.

“Will you let me explain?”

His eyes glittered in the darkness when they met mine. “That’s not why you’re here, Libs.”

His hand slid into my hair and he pulled me forward. “You want one last orgasm before you leave me, before you fuck off and go back to pretending the pathetic fuckup in the mountains doesn’t exist again. You want my cock? Sure, why not?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think you’re pathetic, and no, that’s not why…” He slid his hand inside my panties, gliding his fingers over my clit and stealing my breath. “Tucker, please, we need to…” He hauled me on top of him.

“What? What do we need, Libby? There’s no fixing what you did. But we’re good at this, aren’t we? You and me. We’re good together like this.”

I shook my head. “You’re more to me than?—”