The Rancher’s Unexpected Baby: Brothers of Cooper Ranch Book Two Page 7

  But the memory of that wink had stayed with him. Now, he knew exactly what he intended to do with it.

  His hand slid up beneath her dress to stroke the swell of her thigh. Lena grabbed his wrist and held his hand in place. For a split second, Maxwell thought she was only doing it to relish his touch, but when he looked up at her, her fearful expression wasn't what he had expected to find.

  "Should I stop?" he asked.

  "No. I…it isn't that." Lena's eyes seemed to be pleading with him for something. Again, Maxwell wished he could read her mind. There was so much going on within them, between them, at all hours of the day, and it was as if neither of them knew how to begin expressing it. "I guess I'm just self-conscious. My body isn't the same as it used to be."

  She flushed. Maxwell was stunned. He hadn't realized her self-consciousness about the strange things pregnancy did to her body might extend to all of her. "Lena, you're beautiful," he told her seriously. "I think your new curves are mind-blowing."

  "Really?" Lena reached forward to brush a strand of hair out of his eyes. She looked into his expression for a long moment. Maxwell let her. He wasn't being dishonest. What he was was going crazy with her luscious body right there beneath his fingertips. As soon as he felt her grip on his wrist loosen, his hand started to move again.

  "Really," he confirmed.

  "That's high praise coming from you," she said. “Something tells me you aren't a man who uses the term 'mind-blowing' very often." She grabbed his hand a second time, but it was only to lead it upwards along the curve of her hip. "We should see if we can fix that," she whispered.

  His fingertips touched the lace of her panty line, and Maxwell exhaled. His cock throbbed once, hard, and he realized he was almost fully erect. Just seeing her in the doorway, even not knowing what he had done to incur the sudden shift in her mood, had been enough to get him rock hard. He hadn't been able to get any work done today, between thinking about the baby and their most recent tumble in the hay…

  Maxwell rose. He pulled her dress up with him. Lena laughed and playfully protested as he shed the gauzy fabric from her and tossed it onto the couch. He maneuvered around her and sat down in the chair. He kicked the boot box aside and pulled her onto his lap, her back to his chest. The rustic old cabin chair squeaked beneath their combined weight.

  "Maxwell, I'm not really sure…" Lena trailed off, any further protests silenced by the rough palm that came up to cup her left breast. She shuddered and leaned back into him, her hands alighting on his parted thighs.

  Maxwell banded an arm around her shoulders, her neck, and held her in place as he rolled her breast between his fingers. They were so much fuller now than he remembered them being that first time; he marveled at the heft of them and at the perfect, smooth roundness. Only after he had lulled her and she relaxed against him did he apply a more urgent pressure; he pinched her nipple and relished her immediate response. Lena moaned and spasmed back against him. He could feel his cock starting to peek out over the top of his jeans.

  "Still don't think I can make this work?" He tongued the hollow of her neck, and Lena shuddered. "I know how to get what I want."

  "I know you do," she breathed. She wriggled in his arms, but it was only to shimmy out of her panties. He licked along the sensitive spot just behind her ear and enjoyed the way his breath raised goosebumps all along her arms.

  "Hey. Give me a second," she panted.

  He abided by her request—for now. His hands skated down between them to unfasten his belt buckle. An almost unconscious flick of his thumb and forefinger unfasted his fly, and his cock sprang free as he pulled his boxers down. Lena tried to move so she wouldn't pin it beneath her, and the accidental friction made him groan. He grabbed her waist and steadied her against him.

  "Maxwell." She rubbed herself against him. "Maxwell." She was already slick with her need for him. She pushed herself up, bracing herself on his thighs, as he took hold of his length and guided it toward her passage.

  "Sit back," he breathed. Lena complied, hissing lightly as she sank down onto him. Inch by careful inch, Maxwell buried himself in her. His breathing quickened beside her ear, matching her own. Lena turned into him as her eyes fell shut. Her lips parted, and Maxwell's drifted to join with them. The moment was unbearably tender. Down below the waist, his belly burned with barely-sated desire. He was inside her, but he needed to move in her. He thought he would come undone if he didn't.

  Lena sensed his hunger, maybe because it was exactly in line with her own. She moved atop him, pulling and pushing herself against his rigid cock. Maxwell's groan deepened as the tight lips of her inner sanctum dragged at him. Just when he thought she wouldn't release him, or couldn't, the cold air hit his wet cock. Lena hovered just above him, smiling mischievously as she eyed him over her shoulder. Maxwell growled and pulled her back down onto him. She sighed as he filled her once more.

  They rocked together in the chair. Maxwell had already told his men to stay away from his apartment today; hell, he had done everything short of putting a sock on the door. Lena shivered and moaned, and as he began to pump into her, she cried out. He wasn't sure the walls of the living room would muffle her wild exclamations, and he didn't much care. He was desperate for the release her shuddering, perspiring body would give him. The way her curves bounced on top of him made the heat in his belly rear up like dragon fire and burn to a cinder every other thought that crossed his mind.

  "Maxwell!" She moaned and sagged back against him, allowing herself to momentarily be taken for a ride as he bucked beneath her. Then she shot up with a yelp. He tightened his arms around her. "Maxwell!"

  The sudden urgency in her voice made him surge into her harder. Her cries pitched higher as she rode him, then all at once she was coming; he could feel Lena's release almost as acutely as if it were his own. She throbbed around him, and he lost all hope of holding out any longer. Maxwell thrust upward one last time and spilled himself deep inside her.

  They slumped together in the chair. It gave one last squeak of protest, then was silent until they began to stir again. Lena pushed the damp curls from her eyes as Maxwell helped her push herself to her feet. "Well, that was…"

  "Mind-blowing?" he suggested. His own orgasm still rolled through him in pleasant little aftershocks.

  Lena grinned. "If you do say so yourself."

  "I do. You're beautiful, Lena."

  They stared at one another for a beat. Then, Lena blushed and looked away. She pushed his shoulder gently before turning to shuffle toward her room. "I'm going to take a bath in that big claw-footed monster you installed," she said over her shoulder.

  "Can I come?" Maxwell pushed himself to his feet.

  Lena paused in the doorway. Then, turning, she curled her finger toward him.

  For once, the silence between them said it all. It was an open invitation.

  And Maxwell would be damned if he missed out on it.

  12

  MAXWELL

  "And the Arabs still haven't made contact with you?" Jenny Malone asked him over the phone.

  "Nothing," Maxwell confirmed. He pressed the cell closer to his ear as he scrolled through his emails. "Not a peep from them since the horse sale."

  Jenny was a horse trader out in Colorado whom he had connected with at a conference two years before. She was an older woman, silver-haired, with youthful eyes and an easy smile. Maxwell didn't detect the smile in her voice today, however. Its absence made him suspicious. He sat back in his office chair. "You know something?"

  "Only what I've heard."

  Her reticence didn't bode well. On top of being an out-of-this-world trader, Jenny had a knack for parsing gossip in their world and pulling on the slender threads of truth. It was part of the reason Maxwell cherished their friendship. She was a straight-shooter, too, and the fact that she was clearly holding back meant it was best to brace for bad news.

  "Tell me," he said.

  Jenny sighed. "It's become quite a story, even all
the way out here. Word is that woman you've got working for you on commission schemed to make you provocative enough to turn the heads of the princesses. Their husbands were not amused. That, coupled with the fact that you've got a chatty, independently-minded, pregnant gal working for you turned them off the sale."

  Maxwell rubbed his face. "Damn it." Lena must have come up in conversation between the princes and their wives. "What am I supposed to do now, Jenny?"

  "Maxwell, who cares what the Arabs think?" Jenny demanded. "Seriously, kid. You've got some amazing horseflesh on your hands, and you know I wouldn't lie to you. You'll make the sale. Maybe this is just God givin' you a sign you're going to make it to somebody else."

  "How many other princes do you know wandering the circuit?" Maxwell asked her with a bitter smile. His inbox dinged, and he shot forward in his chair. "Hang on, Jenny. I'll call you back."

  "Don't trouble yourself about it," Jenny said. "Something tells me you just got good news. Or at least, the news you've been waitin' to hear. I'll catch up with you next week, Maxwell."

  Maxwell hung up, and stared for a long moment at his laptop screen. The princes had just e-mailed him.

  He summoned a deep breath and clicked it open.

  "We about done here, Lena?" Maxwell checked his watch against the clock on the barn wall.

  "Almost finished," Lena agreed. She craned closer to Whisper, placed a gentle hand on either side of his muzzle, and pressed her cheek to the bridge of his nose. "Breathe with me, Whisper, in and out. 'I am an amazing horse. My coat is shiny, and my gallop is mighty. I am sought after by princes. I will get all my defecations done before they visit, and afterwards I'll eat a bucket of my favorite oats drizzled in honey. I deserve every good thing that comes to me. I'm going to make Daddy proud.'"

  Maxwell exhaled impatiently and checked his watch again. Lena was laying it on a bit thick with the affirmations today, but she insisted on going through them before every potential buyer came calling. Maxwell, as impatient and annoyed with the whole procedure as he was feeling, was also superstitious. If Lena insisted it needed to be done, then he wasn't going to get in her way.

  "There!" Lena patted Whisper's nose as she drew back. "That wasn't so hard."

  Gravel popped in the driveway outside, signaling the arrival of the princes' limo. Maxwell darted a glance toward the door, then grabbed Lena's shoulders and started to steer her out.

  "I need you to make yourself scarce," he said. "No time to explain."

  Lena dug her heels in and threw her weight (and their daughter's) back against him. "Maxwell! What the hell?"

  "You make them uncomfortable!" he exclaimed. He knew immediately he shouldn't have said it.

  Lena wheeled, her eyes huge in her head. "What are you saying? Are you saying I...that I need to go hide somewhere? What are we, three years old?"

  "Please, Lena. I'm begging you. Just do it."

  Her incredulous expression crumpled, and Maxwell realized too late just how badly his behavior had hurt her feelings. She turned and departed out the back door just as the Arabs entered from the front.

  Maxwell turned and forced his game face to the fore. "Good afternoon, gentlemen."

  "That was her, no?" one of the princes sneered.

  "Who?" Maxwell asked. They had exchanged two sentences and he was already feeling exhausted.

  "The woman from before," another of the princes provided. "The one who is pregnant."

  A ripple went through the small gathering. Maxwell forged ahead anyway. He went on and on describing Whispered Faith's various qualities as Tick led the horse out to be viewed. Maybe there was something to Lena's affirmations after all; Whisper stood stock-still and appeared to be on his best behavior as the princes inspected him. Maxwell felt a pain in his chest as he glanced out the way Lena had exited.

  "Well, everything seems to be in order here," one of the princes said as he drew back. "All that remains is the matter of that woman."

  "What matter?" Maxwell asked tiredly. He ignored the look of outrage Tick shot him. Different culture, different rules.

  "We don't want her involved in the sale," another prince—the eldest, based on his graying temples and beard—said. His tone brooked no argument. “It is inappropriate for a woman in her condition to be interacting in any way with us.”

  "And if I refuse?" Maxwell asked.

  The first prince shrugged. "Then we walk, Mr. Cooper. It is that simple. We take our money elsewhere, to an American stable where the women are not so crass and…immodest."

  The disapproving frown turned Maxwell's stomach. Lena dressed as conservatively as she always had; it was just her new curves that increased her cleavage and made every shirt suddenly revealing.

  He exchanged another look with Tick. He knew what his answer had to be.

  He just didn't want to say it.

  13

  LENA

  Lena was used to getting stared at when she went out to the bar alone. She figured sideways glances from the male drinking population were to be expected; she was a young woman, seemingly out on her own and unattached. She couldn't blame them for being curious.

  But as she eased herself onto a stool at the bar, she realized the looks she was getting were distinctly different. Maxwell's unending sexual attention had given her a new appreciation for her curves, so she understood that the men around her might still be checking her out like they always had, but she could swear the look on the bartender's face was almost a glare.

  When she adjusted herself slightly on the stool, she also caught the expression on her nearest neighbor's face. He was a man maybe ten years older than her, with a head of puckish, curly red hair and a substantive wiry beard. He turned his bright blue eyes away from her, pursed his lips to whistle a low tune, and drank some of the foam off his Guinness. There were two other redheaded men lined up down the bar behind him. They leaned out a little to get a better look at her, then turned away to converse quietly amongst themselves. Lena couldn't pick up what they were saying, but she heard the faint lilt of Irish accents.

  Of course. She was pregnant. A bar was the last place any Good Samaritan wanted her to be. But she had to drown her sorrows somewhere, didn't she? And this place had a brownie sundae to die for.

  "What can I get you?" The bartender had returned. He leaned against the counter and folded his arms. It was obvious he didn't plan on picking up an empty glass anytime soon.

  "I need ice cream." Lena met his stare and leaned in. "The double-chocolate brownie sundae, please. With extra fudge."

  The bartender rapped his knuckles on the bar to signal he had her order and turned toward the kitchen. "Oh! And your best mocktail, please," Lena called after him. It felt wrong to sit at a bar stewing emotionally without a drink to nurse.

  "Rough day?"

  She turned on her stool to see the Irishman beside looking at her again. Now that the bar had universally agreed that she was not to be treated as a pariah, she could see the curiosity in his eyes had returned.

  "Rough five months."

  "You don't look a day over three."

  Lena laughed and shook her head. "That's awfully nice of you. And hey, don't I know you from somewhere? You look familiar to me."

  The Irishman extended his hand. "Bill McMurphy."

  "Lena Fudge." She accepted his hand eagerly to shake. "Yeah, I do know you! You were at the VIP buyer day at the sale last week!"

  "And I know you," he said. "How could I forget a face like yours?"

  Lena laughed. "Are you sure it was just my face that was memorable?"

  Her mocktail—a virgin appletini, according to the bartender—arrived first, and after she had explained the point of such a drink to Bill (which was to say, no point at all), they fell naturally into talking about horses. By the time her sundae arrived, Lena had almost forgotten her craving. She was conversing animatedly by this point. And it hadn't escaped her that the two other members of Bill's team were leaning into listen.

  "I'm telling
you, Cooper Ranch has exactly what you're looking for. You should come by sometime and get a closer look. I'm certain Maxwell would be more than happy to..."

  A heavy hand settled on her shoulder, the weight of it silencing her mid-sentence. Lena turned around.

  "Maxwell! There you are! Speak of the Devil."

  Maxwell looked hard into Lena's startled face. He was still trying to process every piece of this scene, and he wasn't sure he liked the scenario he was coming up with. Lena seemed awfully comfortable for a pregnant woman settled onto a stool at the bar.

  He couldn't process Lena's expression. There was residual anger—and hurt—clearly reflected in her eyes, but the rest of her face was expressively happy. She was roping him into whatever conversation she had going, he realized. He had no idea what her scheme was, but there was clearly one simmering below the surface.

  "When Dennis said you went to the bar, I didn't believe him," he said. Lena motioned for him to take the seat next to her, but he didn't. Not right away. His eyes cut to her neighbors. He had recognized them at once. They were the trio of buyers from Ireland. "Making friends?"

  "Heck yeah, I am!" Lena saluted him with her sweet-looking drink. "Maxwell, this is Bill. Bill, Maxwell."

  They went through the introductions quickly, and Maxwell shook everyone's hand. By the time Rick returned to take his order, he could see that there was no way of extracting Lena from her impromptu meeting. He settled in to watch, all the while sitting on more than just the barstool.

  The Arabs had given him their requirements, and he’d refused to meet them. They wanted nothing to do with the potential sale at Cooper Ranch. It was remarkable how desperately Maxwell wanted to break the news to her. She was his partner in this, and in more than just business. But a part of him couldn't help suspecting that if he'd just handled the whole thing himself from the beginning, he would have made the sale.