Her p**sy clenched as his tongue moved over her other finger. Her own h*ps rocked, her breath hitching.
“Slide over me, Beth Ann,” he said softly. “Ride me.”
She braced one hand on the bed, raising her hips. Her other hand reached for his c*ck and she braced it at the core of her body, then began to push back, seating him in her body. His fingers had moved back to her br**sts, tugging at the peaks as she gasped and worked herself down his hard length. And when she had seated herself fully, she sat back and moved her hips, just a little. He was so full inside her, and this way she got to look down at his delicious body. Her hands ran over his chest—so gorgeous. All hers.
His hands slid to her hips, and when she raised them, he pushed her back down, the thrust hard and unyielding. She moaned, immediately raising her h*ps again to repeat the motion. Again, and again, she rode him, lifting her h*ps to meet the upward thrust of his. He felt so good slamming into her body—and without the condom on, she felt even more. His fingers squeezed her n**ples, the hard tips tightening, and her body jerked in response to that jolt.
He groaned, no doubt feeling it all the way down to his body. His thrusts became harder, and though she had initially started out in control, he’d quickly taken back over again—that was fine with her—she loved his control in bed, his mastery of her. When his hands slid back down to her h*ps to slam her down on his cock, her hands moved to her n**ples, tugging at them as he rocked into her over and over again.
She came a moment later, tensing and crying out his name. He gave a fierce jerk underneath her, and then she felt the wash of his cum inside her. She leaned over him, tracing her fingers over his face, his mouth.
He pulled her close and gave her a hard, fierce kiss. “Thank you for being there for me today.”
“Always,” she whispered, and meant it.
Colt couldn’t tell her.
He’d wanted to while she’d slept next to him last night. He’d f**ked her hard that morning, too, but he’d been unable to make the words come out of his mouth. She wouldn’t understand. Hell, he didn’t understand it himself.
That douche bag Allan was his brother. It made his skin crawl at the thought. And if he told her that and mentioned that he’d lied to her about that first weekend? She wouldn’t understand.
He’d tell her. She needed to know. Just…not yet. Not while he was raw with it himself.
He was quiet as she’d driven him back to the hospital. He knew she was concerned, but she’d simply kissed him and told him to call if he needed her.
“Hey, Dad,” he said as he entered his father’s room. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Much better,” Henry said with a smile. “I’m surprised you came back after what I told you yesterday.”
Guilt flashed through him. “Nah,” he said. “You’ve always been my father. Always will be.”
Henry squeezed Colt’s hand. “I’m glad. I’ve missed you.”
He’d missed his father, too. Seeing him had made him realize that even though he didn’t agree with the way Henry Waggoner had lived his life, he still loved the man. Colt cleared his throat. “How you feeling this morning?”
“Just fine. Nurses say they’re going to keep me one more day just for observation. I can go home tomorrow.”
Colt shook his head. “You’re not going back to that dump. It’s not safe. The entire thing should be condemned and the yard cleaned out.”
His father began to protest. “There’s lots of money in that scrap metal—”
“And you owe even more in fines to the city than it’s worth. I’m going to have to clean it up.”
His father set his jaw, mulishly. “It’s my stuff.”
“You can’t clean it up. You’re sick, and your leg is messed up. Let me take care of it.” He was sure Dane—and maybe even Grant—would help with the cleanup. And if they wouldn’t, he could always hire someone to haul trash. Either way, he was cleaning out that property. “I already talked to Grant. We have an extra cabin next to Brenna’s and I’m moving you in there.”
Henry’s jaw set stubbornly. “I won’t be a parasite on your finances.”
“You won’t be,” Colt lied. “Just the other day, Grant was talking about how he needed someone to maintain the lawns around the houses and tune up the ATVs and handle the paintball guns. I’m hiring you for the job if you want it.”
Of course, he’d have to run it past Grant, but Grant wouldn’t care. The only reason the man was so invested in their damn business was because he’d go crazy with nothing to do. They could bleed money for years and Grant wouldn’t give a shit—he was loaded.
His father gave him a skeptical look. “How much does this job pay?”
“Minimum wage,” Colt drawled. “Take it or leave it.”
“I’ll take it,” his father said. “If you think I’m needed.”
He’d have Brenna break the equipment every week just to give his dad something to do. He clapped a hand on his dad’s shoulder. “Absolutely. Leave the rest to me.”
She had no customers. Beth Ann stared at her empty salon chair, trying not to feel depressed and like a failure.
She couldn’t even run her own business. She was a failure. She was a very broke failure. Her savings was tapped out. She had just enough to pay her rent that was due in two weeks, but that was it.
Colt would loan her the money, if she asked. She didn’t want to ask, though. She didn’t want to depend on anyone. If she couldn’t do it on her own, then what was the point? Her phone rang, and she leapt to answer it. “California Dreamin’!”
“Hey, girl, it’s me.” Miranda’s voice was cheerful. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing.” She sighed, fighting back depression as she stared at her empty salon. “Just working.”
“Oh.” Miranda sounded sad. She knew Beth Ann was struggling. “I could use a trim on my bangs. Can I come by?”
“Of course, honey,” she said, her mouth twisting in a wry smile. “But I cut your bangs last week.”
“Oh. Well. Maybe a new manicure? I thought I might go for something in red.”
She smiled. “You can’t single-handedly save my business, Mir. It’s sweet, but you should probably save your money for your wedding.”
Miranda groaned into the phone. “Don’t remind me. I think Dane’s mom is going to be a bridezillla. Momzilla. Whatever. I got a package from her the other day and it was a box full of bridal magazines. God. Dane took one look at it and ran out of the house.”
Beth Ann laughed, moving to the window and peeking at the shop across the street. Still full of people. She didn’t understand it. How could the other salon be so much better than hers? She’d never had complaints before.
Something wasn’t adding up.
“So anyhow,” Miranda said. “I got Dane to volunteer for the dunking booth. We’ll set up in town square, and he promised to wear a hockey helmet and a jersey. It’s for a good cause, right?”
“That’s great,” she said, watching another customer stroll down the street toward the other salon. Her teeth clenched. “You still going to give all the proceeds to the library?”
“Yup. I think it’ll be a great fund-raiser. Much better than another charity drive.”
“Much,” she said absently, then frowned. “Hey, Mir, let me let you go. I need to check something out.”
“Sure, catch you later. Call me.”
Beth Ann ended the call and tossed her phone down on the counter. She flipped the sign on her door, and then headed down the street, curious to find out what the other woman had that she didn’t. Because darn it, she was tired of wondering. And now she wanted answers.
Beth Ann entered the other salon hesitantly. Her bravado had disappeared somewhere during the walk across the street, and now all she felt was anxious.
She glanced down at the row of customers. All four seats in the waiting area were full. In the salon section, a woman stood behind a barber chair, curling Mrs. Potter—her old client, she noticed—into a ragged-looking updo. Hmph. At the back of the room, another woman sat, painting nails. Twins. She hadn’t realized there were two women. They were pretty, too, though the one curling hair needed to wear less makeup. She wore tight capris and a leopard sweater, her black hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. She gave Beth Ann a quick glance as she entered, and Beth Ann noticed she was wearing false eyelashes. Good lord.
“We can’t take walk-ins today,” the woman announced, a thick drawl to her voice. “Too busy. Earliest I can get you in is Tuesday. You have a coupon?”
“She’s not a walk-in,” Mrs. Potter said in an unpleasant voice. “She’s the competition.”
Hateful woman. Beth Ann frowned. “I’m not here for a haircut.” Oh heavens. What was she going to say now that Mrs. Potter had pretty much sold her out? I came to snoop and see why you’re selling so much better than I am? The decorations on the walls were generic, the equipment the same as hers. She didn’t get it. “I came over to say hi and see how business was going.”
The hairstylist gave her an uncertain smile. “Business couldn’t be better. Thanks for asking.”
On a nearby seat, a woman held up a purple slip of paper. “Here. I have an extra coupon if you need it. You could get your nails done. Probably be nice to have someone do yours for a change.”
Numbly, Beth Ann took the coupon, too polite to point out that she could do her own nails for free…and then froze. Bluebonnet special—80 percent off of her regular prices? Beth Ann glanced over at the sign on the window, and did some mental calculation. Even with the woman’s astronomical fees, with this coupon, she was still much cheaper than Beth Ann’s prices.
Coupons. Of course. How stupid she’d been. People were attracted to a sale, and this woman was undercutting the hell out of her and making it seem like a bargain. Annoyed, she flipped over the coupon.
Her heart stopped. The coupon postcards had a small, cheerful sun in the top left-hand corner, along with a return address. They’d been sent out from Sunny Motors. She’d recognize that logo anywhere. Fury slammed through her, and she sucked in a deep breath, then marched over to the woman with the false eyelashes.
“Excuse me,” Beth Ann said, and shoved the coupon at her. “Who’s behind this?”
The woman—Jordan, judging from her nametag—smiled at Beth Ann. “New business incentive.” She winked. “I almost thought it was too good to be true, but Allan assured me it’s on the up-and-up.”
“Oh, he did, did he?” She studied the woman a bit longer, the fake eyelashes, the enormous rack. “Did he ever buy you shoes?”
Jordan grinned over at Beth Ann. “You know Allan, too?”
“Not for much longer,” she muttered, tucking the coupon into her pocket. “Because I’m going to kill him.”