Page 95 of High Water

“It’s not? The last I checked, I was a member of this club.” She holds up her ring for me to see.

“Mmm. Yeah. See… club fees don’t cover private showings like this one. That’s extra.”

“I’ll have to talk to the owner about that.”

“I hear he takes bribes.”

“Does he? Any idea what sort might work on him?”

“A couple of bites of ice cream might help your case.”

“And here I am with a whole bowl of it.” She plays along and smirks down at her mountain of chocolate ice cream, dipping her spoon into the scoop that’s already starting to melt and holding it out for me. I take the mouthful, letting out a soft moan of appreciation for her benefit before I let the spoon slip free from my mouth. She feeds me another and then holds it back, looking at me expectantly.

“Thoughts you want to share?” I ask.

“I think two bites earn me admission, don’t you?” Her eyes rake down my chest and land on my boxer briefs. I’m already getting hard for her. There’s really no fucking pretending I’m not. I glance back at the shower, checking to be sure it’s not going to be freezing cold when I step inside. The steam’s started to rise and billow out from behind the frameless glass door.

“You coming inside with me?” I ask as I look back and see her sliding the bowl onto the counter.

“Hmm… I heard the owner’s wife has rules.” She hums as she stands and runs her fingers up the center of my chest until she reaches my dog tags, slipping them off my neck and onto the tray she keeps her jewelry on.

“Ah. I’ve heard she’s pretty strict on the enforcement of those.”

“Well,” she continues as she takes off her bracelet. Her ring follows, and she takes mine with it, and her earrings are the last to go after her necklace. “I heard that in this particular club, it’s the owner who calls all the shots. Whatever he says goes.” Her lashes lift, and her eyes meet mine, the challenge behind them even more evident when she drops her robe over the chair next to her without losing my gaze.

“I haven’t heard that particular rumor yet.”

“His wife’s a real pain in his ass, and he’s constantly doing her bidding. Trips to the store. Helping with homework. Ordering dinner. Doing dishes. Keeping everyone happy. And that’s after a long day doing backbreaking work at the ranch because he gave up his very lucrative career to muck stalls and fix things around the place in order to spend more time with his family.”

“I don’t think she’s a pain in the ass at all.”

“Oh, she is. She knows it. He knows it even if he won’t ever say it. He’s too perfect for things like that. Which is why when they’re in their little private club, one night a month when she’s been so busy she hasn’t given him the date night she promised, she lets him have whatever he wants.”

“Whatever he wants?”

“Anything his heart desires.”

“This sounds like it’s well outside the bounds of their usual agreement.”

“I would guess it is. But see, he only gets it on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“He takes it.”

FORTY

Aspen

“Jones…” It’s a question and warning all wrapped in one. The promise of what he’ll do to me right there behind his eyes.

“Bradford.”

I haven’t called him that in a million years. Not since he joined the military and one of the friends he made there came back to the ranch with him after boot camp. Everything was Bradford this and Bradford that. So that summer, I teased him by calling him by his last name in bed until it stopped being a joke and started being our secret way of saying I wanted him to sneak into my bedroom that night, and then my way of saying I was coming down to visit him in his barracks the fall after. And the same one I called him when I told him every single night that last winter that I wanted him to make me forget that there was ever anyone else but him.

Something snaps in him when he hears it. A rubber band I’ve probably wound too tight and waited too long to finally release. A sin I’m fairly certain I’m about to pay for. He closes what little space is left between us, hauling me up into his arms and kissing me like both our lives depend on it. He barely lets me have a breath before resuming his assault on my senses, placing me gently on the countertop as I lean back to let his tongue tangle with mine. The man can do a lot of things, but holy hell, can he kiss. The kind that’s teasing me one minute with promises and delivering on them the next, claiming me as if I belong to him. Which I suppose I do these days.

I pull away the next time he lets me come up for air, staring up into his eyes for a long moment before I speak.