Tempting the Deputy Read online

  She chugged down a mouthful of the hot coffee and he watched her throat bob. Had to be thirsty work keeping up the pretense of not giving a damn about something that must have hurt like hell when you were a kid. “By the time Em and I were four we had begun to totally cramp their style. So they washed their hands of us. Stuck us in boarding schools year-round, hired a governess and a housekeeper for those pesky school holidays, and visited us maybe once or twice a year like we were exotic animals in a zoo. Then one day—the day after mine and Em’s eighteenth birthday, which of course they’d been far too busy to attend—the housekeeper gave us the news the private plane they were traveling in went down over the Swiss Alps. Bummer really, because apparently there was some great snow in Klosters that year and they missed it.”

  The flippant remark couldn’t hide the bite of bitterness—or the well of pain beneath.

  Logan placed his hand over the ones Charlotte had clasped in her lap, and brushed his thumb over the whitened knuckles. So that was where the spooky connection he’d felt came from. She knew too, exactly what it felt like to be less than. To people who should have cared about you.

  Lifting her stiff fingers, he kissed her palm. “It still sucks.”

  She curled her fingers closed, the quirk of her lips more confused than amused. “I suppose.”

  “So you’ve got a twin sister?” he said, eager to know more—and keen to change the subject, because for a moment there she had looked so vulnerable. He didn’t want to think about that tough little girl trying and failing to get her parents’ attention.

  “Yes. We’re identical twins.”

  “No kidding?” He chuckled. “How the heck has the world survived with two of you roaming around?”

  Charlotte smiled, the cheeky grin captivating him more. “Because we’re only identical in theory,” she said. “Emily is the smart, sensible, good twin. I got all the bad twin genes. Just ask our head teachers.”

  “Head teachers? Plural?”

  She laughed and nodded. “Uh-huh, I managed to get expelled from…” She paused as if considering the number—the glint in her eye suggesting this was an achievement to be proud of. “I think it was five different boarding schools by the time I’d graduated. Poor old Em got dragged out with me because she refused to stay any place I wasn’t welcome. Em’s not only smart and sensible, she’s also super loyal.”

  “I’d like to meet her one day,” he said.

  Charlotte tugged her hand out of his. “Unlikely,” she said. “Em doesn’t travel well. And I don’t generally introduce her to my hookups.”

  Were they still just a hookup? The thought irritated him for no good reason. But he didn’t say anything. He’d figured something out about Charlotte today. Something she would probably hate for him to know.

  She wasn’t half as tough as she pretended to be.

  “Speaking of which…” She placed her sandwich on the dash. Then lifted his coffee cup out of his hand before placing that on the dash too… “When’s the last time you had a shag in a pickup truck?” she said.

  “A shag?” he said, enjoying the dumb British word. Heat pooled in his groin at the saucy smile as she lifted up and straddled his lap. She planted her palms on his chest, under the shirt he hadn’t bothered to button up, and then slid them down his ribs. Sensation leapt and jumped at the firm caress, her fingertips gliding under his waistband, before she set about unbuckling his belt.

  “Charlotte?” he said, his hands coming to rest on her butt. “What the hell are you doing?” he added in the sternest voice he could muster while every molecule of blood in his brain was charging south.

  The playful smile became more than a bit wicked as she ripped open his fly and pressed her palm against the straining ridge in shorts. “I’d say it’s pretty obvious.”

  “We’re out in the open here,” he said, not sure why he found the thought so damn arousing. Maybe Lyle wasn’t the only exhibitionist in the family.

  She glanced around as if checking for people. “So what? There’s no one about.” Her finger trailed under his shorts, and fondled his erection.

  He groaned and jerked against her touch. The little tease.

  “Unbutton my shirt, Logan,” she said. “I want to feel those big, callused hands of yours on my tits.”

  This was just another distraction technique. He knew it. But his mind was already way too far down in his pants to think clearly. The brush of her knuckles tortured him as she released the erection and wrapped her fingers around the turgid length.

  He sucked in a breath as she began to stroke him in smooth even strokes.

  He did as he was told, unbuttoning her shirt and then pulling it down until it hung from her shoulders.

  He traced the purple lace edge of her bra, then delved beneath to pull one ripe breast out. He licked at the nipple, gratified when she bucked and set off the car horn.

  “Bugger,” she said, as he laughed.

  Settling back down, she continued to stroke him, while he placed his lips on her nipple, drew the succulent peak into his mouth.

  She sighed. “Has anyone ever told you, Logan, you have the most magnificent cock?” The confidence in her tone was almost as compelling as the play of her thumb over the head of his penis.

  “Not lately,” he managed, as he blew on the wet nipple, then released her other breast from its lacy confinement.

  The battle continued as she stroked and caressed and he sucked and licked.

  “Oh God, I want you inside me,” she murmured, bowing back, thrusting her breasts into his mouth.

  He pulled back, his dick ready to explode. Grasping her hand, he dragged it off his cock.

  “Get out of your damn pants,” he said, his voice gruff with desperation.

  She swore, then scrambled around, but the space was too cramped with her on his lap. Grasping her round the waist, he lifted her off him, and dumped her on the seat of the cab.

  His elbow knocked the steering wheel; her head thudded against the opposite door as he grabbed her boots and tugged them off. Then he undid her jeans and dragged them down her hips with her wiggling furiously to help him.

  He swore. “Next time we decide to do this, could you wear a damn skirt?”

  “Absolutely,” she said, breathing heavily, as he managed to yank the confining denim past her knees. “As soon as it’s not cold enough to freeze my fanny off, I am going to be wearing skirts with no undies.”

  He laughed as he flung the jeans over the seat, then yanked her panties down and off. “Glad to hear it.”

  Lifting her knees until she was open for him, he thrust deep.

  The vicious climax licked at the base of his spine, her breasts jiggling in front of him, propped up by the bra he hadn’t bothered to take off.

  Bracing her hands against the door, she sobbed, the sound low and deep, spurring him on, spurring him up.

  His knee was jammed against the seat, his boots ramming the door. The whole cab rocked on its springs, the thump thump thump of the suspension matched her gasps of breath and his grunts. Steam gathered on the windshield cocooning them from the outside world.

  She grasped his buttocks in greedy hands, demanding he go deeper, take more. His lips found the pulse point in her neck. She cried out as her climax hit. Her muscles spasmed, gripping his aching cock and massaging the whole length.

  Not yet, not yet. Fuck now…

  He dragged himself out, pumping his spurting seed against the soft skin of her belly as the orgasm roared through him like a freight train.

  He collapsed on top of her, the cab finally bouncing to a stop. His galloping heartbeat finally slowed to a canter.

  It took him a while to come back to reality. To realize he was in the cab of his truck and he’d just screwed Charlotte into the upholstery.

  The air stank of sex and her, the wild coupling just about the most nuts he’d ever had. His elbow hurt like a son of a bitch, and he had his pants down round his damn ankles, his naked butt chilled by the spring ai
r. But the pheromones still firing through his bloodstream made him feel invincible.

  Lifting up he rolled off her. And sat up.

  “That was nuts,” he said as he began scooting his jeans up over his hips.

  “Nuts but fun,” she said.

  “Yeah.”

  She looked as satisfied as he felt, but then a warm light came into her eyes. Her expression still hot, but also somehow tender. His heartbeat cantered back up to a gallop.

  “Guess what? That was a first for me,” she announced, looking pretty damn pleased with herself. She pushed her unruly hair behind her ears. “I’ve never done it in a vehicle before.”

  “Me either.”

  “Really?” Her head tilted to one side. “I thought all American teenagers made out in their parents’ cars. Now I’m disappointed.”

  “They do, generally.”

  “Then why didn’t you?” she said. “And don’t tell me it’s ’cos you didn’t have a girlfriend who would let you get in her panties. Because I don’t believe you. No girl would be able to resist that magnificent cock.”

  He laughed. Holy crap, did the woman have no shame at all?

  “I had a couple of girlfriends. Never got past second base with either one of them. I never had the time to treat them right. While the other guys were busy making out on the River Road after football practice I was always at the ranch, looking out for Lyle or doing the heavy chores he was too little to do.” Or his old man was too drunk to do. “And when Pop died I had to quit school altogether.” Because there had been no one else to take on the responsibility.

  He concentrated on re-buttoning his fly, while she leaned over the seat to retrieve her jeans and the boots he’d chucked into the back of the cab.

  “How boring for you,” she said, bouncing back down next to him.

  “Yeah. It was kind of dull.” Funny, he’d never thought about that until now. How much he’d missed out on as a teenager because of all the stuff he had to look after.

  “Well, it’s a good thing I’m here to show you what you’ve been missing,” she said.

  “Ain’t that the truth,” he said and grinned, captivated all over again by her wild streak. Maybe it was just the endorphins talking—which were still charging through his bloodstream like thoroughbreds heading for the finish line at the Kentucky Derby—but somehow he didn’t think so.

  Charlotte was right. He’d always been super safe and responsible as a kid—not just about sex but about every part of his life. Because he’d known there wasn’t anyone to catch him if he fell.

  But suddenly the thought of what they could be doing together while Charlotte was at the Double T charged through his head.

  Charlotte’s wildness brought something rich and vivid into his life that he hadn’t even realized was missing until now. For once in his life he didn’t have to give a damn about what people thought or what had to be done next; he could just wallow in how good having her around made him feel.

  It wouldn’t last. Heck, Charlotte would probably drive him over the edge if she stayed for much longer than a couple of weeks—because generally he preferred his life to be steady and predictable. And she’d no doubt get bored with him.

  But right this minute, with his body still humming from the adrenaline rush of hot sweaty, pickup truck sex, he felt like a teenager, drunk on lust and endorphins and possibilities. The teenager he’d never been allowed to be when he was a teenager.

  “Oh. My. God.” She said as if she’d just discovered the secret of life. “You know what this means, Logan?”

  “What?”

  The teasing glint in her eyes made him smile.

  “We just christened your truck,” she declared.

  “We sure did.” The grin split his face as she laughed—that rich smoky seductive laugh that he was fast becoming addicted to.

  He turned on the ignition—and began chuckling with her as they bounced down the dirt track that led off the high pasture.

  They carried on laughing together across the pastureland and over the creek road until they reached the ranch.

  He felt like a naughty kid who had gotten away with something. And Charlotte was his partner in crime.

  She jumped down from the truck, having gathered up the picnic stuff. Lifting her camera bag off the seat, she slung it over her shoulder.

  “I need a shower. To wash all your little swimmers off my stomach,” she said, outrageous as ever. “Then I’m going to upload the shots from today.”

  “You want me to cook supper later?” he asked, already imagining what they could get up to on the kitchen table for dessert.

  “Sure,” she said. “I should have some contacts to show you by then.” She bounced up on tiptoes, grabbed his cheeks, and planted a quick kiss on his lips. “Thanks for a great afternoon, Logan,” she finished, before letting him go and skipping up the porch steps to disappear into the house.

  He couldn’t wipe the dumb grin off his face as he watched the screen door slam.

  But it wasn’t until he’d saddled up Mystic and was riding the colt to the calving pens to help Tad and Ryan feed and water the pregnant cows, that he realized he’d begun to whistle.

  Chapter Eleven

  Charlie set the timer in the glow of infrared light and switched on the enlarger. The negative image of Logan’s head and torso that she had taken over a week ago in the high pasture imprinted itself onto the eight by ten rectangle of photographic paper. The enlarger clicked off and she lifted the paper with her thumb and forefinger, set the timer to one minute, and dropped the print into the tray of developer.

  She held her breath while she swished the fluid backward and forward as the image gradually came to life.

  This was where the magic happened.

  Logan appeared, his eyes downcast, his jaw strong, his chest solid, his expression resolute. The white fencing behind him created a stark line against the varying grays of the sagebrush in the pasture. And the monolith of Copper Mountain in the background. But it was the monolith of the man himself that grabbed all the attention. And made Charlie’s breath catch.

  The man who she’d discovered so much more about than when this picture was taken. And yet seemed to know and understand even less.

  The past week had gone by in a blur of insanely hot sex, and so many moments of humor, teasing and, most seductive of all, companionship. And while that touched her on so many levels, it terrified her on others.

  Logan Tate was not the man she had once assumed he was. Nor was he the man he had become that day on the hill pasture. He was so much more than that. She wasn’t sure she’d ever met a man who was as steady and loyal and logical as he was. As strong and dependable and determined. But neither had she met a man who also had so many hidden depths. So many different layers and complexities.

  She’d thought he was the polar opposite of her—in personality and in his whole outlook on life. She’d believed that despite the incendiary physical connection between them, Logan was far too settled and confident and assured to ever hold her attention for more than a few days. But it had been ten days now since they’d started sleeping together, and every single thing she’d discovered about him had blurred each of those certainties. He captivated her. Not just that rugged handsome face, all his hot moves in bed and that magnificent cock, but his humor, his openness, and his generosity of spirit.

  For the first time ever, she had no desire to move on. Or not yet. Which was unusual in itself. Ever since she’d left London age eighteen, she’d never spent more than a week, two at the most, in the same spot—she’d always been itching to move on in a matter of days.

  Not so now. If anything she was already contemplating the end of the project, and knowing a month would not be long enough to satisfy her curiosity about the man whose bed she shared.

  And yup, she’d actually begun sleeping in Logan’s bed and not just jumping him there. Another first for her, because while she’d had boyfriends and lots of them, she had always rebelled again
st the thought of having a man invade her personal space. For that reason she’d been reluctant when Logan had first suggested she move into his room for the duration. But once Lyle had returned from his smoke jumper training, and any more epic shags on the kitchen table had been out, moving into Logan’s room had made sense.

  Even so, she had assumed she’d want to tiptoe back into her own bed after they’d made love. But somehow, the first night after Lyle’s return, Logan had tucked her against his chest and she’d drifted into a dreamless sleep so deep the next thing she’d been aware of was waking up to the sound of birdsong with Logan’s impressive morning erection pressing into her buttocks.

  The man had turned her into a stealth snuggler, for chrissake. As well as a nymphomaniac. And while she could live with the nymphomania, she wasn’t sure about the snuggling.

  She’d never done intimacy before in relationships. Not with any of the other guys she’d dated. But with Logan it had just happened. He’d told her about his father, about the abuse he’d suffered, and the challenges he’d faced and overcome, and she’d felt connected to him on some weird subliminal level.

  So much so, that when he’d asked she’d blurted out all the crap about her own parents. But instead of seeing what she’d wanted him to see—that she was tough and invulnerable—she had the terrifying suspicion he’d seen exactly the opposite. The sad little rich girl who had spent her whole childhood yearning to be hugged, accepted, appreciated, yearning to be told she mattered. Then he had gone one step further and found a way to fill that need without her ever having to ask.