“Brock’s the Dark Horse. He just staked his claim and ran like the ass he is, but it’s good to see him actually do something for himself for once.” He was quiet. “Damn, must have been some kiss if you’re still thinking about it.”
“You’re really, really aggravating.” She ignored the question just like she ignored the tightening in her stomach. Brock’s kiss had been…everything.
Ugh, she was in so much trouble.
She had over two weeks of suffering, knowing what his lips felt like on hers? What his body was capable of?
“You’re about to break that dish.” Bentley pried it from her hands and started wiping. “Why don’t you go fix your lipstick, since half of it is currently sitting nice on my brother’s mouth, while the other half is smeared just here.” He pointed to her cheek. “Not that I’m not a huge fan of a sexed-up woman; I just want you to be aware that men are attracted to that look, the one you still have, so if you don’t want Brock to attack you again, you may want to”—he lifted a shoulder—“fix it.”
“Th-thanks.” She backed away slowly, tucking her hair behind her ear. How had it come out of its bun? When had that even happened?
Bentley’s smile was slow, dangerous. “You know, once you go Brock you never go back.”
She sighed. “It would be bad enough if there were only one of you, but there’s two. Literally.”
“Ain’t it great?” He winked.
“I’ll just go deal with…this.” She pointed to her head.
“Good. Oh, and Jane?”
She stopped and turned back around. “Hmm?”
“Brock likes ponytails.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Brock kicked the side of the barn over and over and over again. The cock clearly thought it was being threatened and came barreling toward him, wings raised, beak out.
“Hell,” he rasped, jumping over the stall wall and joining Buttercup.
Right. He’d just kissed the shit out of a woman that he had no business messing with and now he was in a horse stall hiding from a cock.
As if sensing his distress, Buttercup neighed and nudged his shoulder with her soft nose.
“Sorry, girl.” He patted her head. The last time he’d ridden her had been years ago, but whoever had been taking care of the ranch was doing a good job. The barn was still a bit run-down but it was clean, the horses clearly fat and happy with plenty of roaming room and the best oats money could buy.
But still.
He felt guilty.
Damn it, he was so tired of the constant guilt.
Guilt made him say yes when he wanted to say no.
Guilt had him turning into a complete madman when it came to Jane. Hell, he’d mauled her and then run away.
She’d made those cinnamon buns for him. He knew that. He just didn’t know why—especially after he’d been such an ass to her. Blaming her for things that weren’t her fault.
With a sigh, he patted Buttercup’s nose again and ran his hands down the side of her belly. “Wanna go for a ride, girl?”
Maybe it would distract him from marching back into the house, stripping Jane naked, and having his way with her next to the cinnamon roll crumbs.
His blood heated at the thought.
Buttercup kicked her hoof as if excited to get out and run. There was more thrill then hesitation on his part as he gently placed a saddle pad on her back then positioned the saddle before tightening the first cinch. When he was finished he put the bit into her mouth and ran his hand down the side of her nose.
“You ready, girl?” Fear slid into his chest, warning him against riding a horse he hadn’t ridden since the week of his parents’ accident. She’d been young then, so young that he’d probably had no business getting on her in the first place. And now she was old enough that it was a miracle she still looked so good.
He glanced back at the house, then at the horse. What other choice did he have? Going back into the house only meant temptation, and if he didn’t move away from the cock it was going to attack the shit out of him. He opened the gate and hopped onto Buttercup.
And everything clicked into place.
Memories of riding her.
The trails they used to take.
Being on the back of his horse made Brock feel the most centered he had in a while, especially after kissing a girl who made him want a life he would never have. Was that what it was about Jane? The fact that when he was with her he was tempted to want more and actually believed he could have it? Somehow, kissing her had made him feel more alive than he had in months—years. It felt freeing. She was freeing.
Buttercup let out a little snort as she started to gallop across the field, to where his grandfather used to train his old horses back when the ranch was active with horse breeding.
“Good girl.” He patted the sweaty horseflesh and breathed in deep.
“Thought I might find you out here,” a male voice called.
Frowning, Brock turned around and burst into laughter.
The twins were both attempting to ride one of the shortest horses in the barn. Its girth made up for whatever it lacked in height, but the idea that they were both able to stay on it without the horse biting them was impressive.