Her Forever Man Page 7

  “Piano tuning?” Brock asked.

  She smiled, and Brock felt the buzz again. “Yes. There’s a computer program for it, so I’m getting another skill. Who knows? This could be my occupation.”

  Brock imagined men calling her to tune their pianos once a week. “Uh, huh. You’ve been busy.”

  “I have a goal.”

  “Felicity says she might teach us how to play the piano,” Bree said.

  Felicity glanced at him cautiously. “If that’s okay with your father,” she said. “It’s a beautiful instrument, and once we get the sound right, it would be a waste not to use it.”

  Jacob ripped off his earphones and left the window seat. “I’m done. Are you gonna show us how to play ‘Chopsticks’?”

  Brock blinked. Jacob’s enthusiasm was usually reserved for food or roping calves.

  Jacob caught sight of Brock and his demeanor immediately changed. His son shoved his hands in his pockets. “You can show us,” Jacob said, “but I won’t play ’cause girls play piano and guys don’t. Right, Dad?”

  Felicity shot Brock a disapproving glance. “I’m afraid to guess where he may have picked up this macho nonsense.”

  Brock chuckled, walking to the piano. It was nice to see Felicity making the wrong assumptions instead of him. He sat down on the bench. “Not from me,” he said, and began to play.

  Felicity dropped her jaw in astonishment. She shook her head, unable to believe what she was seeing. She watched his big hands play a little, springy minuet by Bach. Those same hands worked the ranch. Those same hands had held her.

  The fact that he made music with those calloused hands intrigued her. A college graduate with honors who roped calves and played the piano. A renaissance cowboy?

  Addie stepped into the doorway. “Oh, my stars,” she said, putting her hand to her throat. “I thought there must’ve been a ghost.”

  “Dad’s playing the piano!” Jacob said in amazement. “Do you know ‘Chopsticks’?” he asked Brock.

  Brock nodded. “I think I might remember it. I’ll teach it to you after dinner. You two go ahead and wash up.”

  Jacob and Bree zipped out of the room with Addie, leaving Brock and Felicity alone. She eased beside him on the seat. “Hidden talent?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “I might have one or two.”

  She lifted one of his hands in both of hers. “When did you learn?”

  “Before my mother died. She taught Tyler and me. I’m better,” he said.

  She laughed and couldn’t resist asking, “Better at what?”

  “Everything except being a medical doctor,” he said, his eyes darkening with intense sexuality.

  Felicity felt her heart rate pick up. “Everything,” she murmured. “That covers a wide spectrum.” His hands fascinated her, large enough to hold a football, calloused and tough. She could feel the controlled strength. She brushed her fingertip over his palm and watched it swallow her finger.

  He lifted her finger to his lips, touching it with his tongue, and Felicity’s breath stopped in her throat. She felt her breasts grow swollen. Those hands, she wondered, Brock’s hands. How would he hold her? Touch her? Take her?

  Feeling herself sinking into his gaze, into him, she swallowed hard and tried to clear her head. “Brock,” she said, her voice husky to her own ears. “I want to learn to drive a truck.”

  Six

  “Absolutely not!” Brock gripped her finger and stared at her as if he was more certain than ever that she had lost her mind.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d looked at her that way, Felicity thought and forged ahead anyway. “It’s a skill, an important skill,” she said.

  “It’s also insanity,” Brock said. “Have you forgotten it’s calving season?”

  “I try,” she murmured under her breath, wishing she could help him forget it for a few moments, too. “It can’t be that difficult. I may not be coordinated, but I’m reasonably educable and very motivated.”

  “No,” Brock said, standing. “You’re going back to New York soon anyway. Why do you need to drive?”

  His words stung in several ways. His eagerness for her to leave hurt, and his uncaring attitude twisted like a knife. “Would you say that to your daughter or sister?”

  He paused. “Maybe not, but you’re not my daughter or sister.”

  “Driving is a life skill. Couldn’t you see that teaching me to drive would be contributing to my independence?”

  Brock shook his head. “It will contribute to my insanity, and trust me, Felicity, I’m fighting to keep it. Pick another guy, another time.”

  The rest of Brock’s week was demanding as hell. Chronically broken fences on the wrong side of his property, cattle with the wrong brand wandering on his land, his cattle wandering onto the Coltranes’ land. Brock scowled at the scrapes on his hands and forearm. Dodging cattle hooves and fixing fences in the dark wasn’t the most pleasant way to spend a Friday night. All he wanted right now was to clean his scrapes, drink a beer and go to bed.

  It was late. The house was dark except for the lamp in the foyer and a light emanating from the kitchen. He heard a soft sound and wondered who was still awake.

  Felicity, wearing her long silk robe and with her hair damp from a shower, stepped out of the kitchen carrying a glass of milk and a plate with a small piece of pie. She stopped abruptly when she saw him.

  The trace of guilt that crossed her face amused him. Not enough to smile, but it amused him. “Sweet tooth tonight?”

  “It’s fudge pie,” she whispered. “And if there’s any left after tomorrow afternoon, I’ll be shocked.”

  “Bree and Jacob love it.”

  “Jacob would have eaten the entire pie if he’d been allowed,” she said, aghast. “Which would have left none for me.”

  He couldn’t resist teasing her. “I didn’t have any dinner tonight.”

  “There’s vegetarian chili in the refrigerator.”

  Brock dipped his head in shock. Surely he hadn’t heard correctly. “Vegetarian chili? There is no such thing, not in Texas. Not on a cattle ranch for pete’s sake.”

  “Sure there is,” she said with a smile so bright he needed his shades. “I got the recipe off the Internet and since you weren’t going to join us tonight, Addie helped me make it. It had grated low-fat cheese on top. The kids loved it.”

  His father wouldn’t just turn over in his grave, he would turn over, grab his weapon and start shooting. “Vegetarian chili,” he muttered. “Those are fightin’ words. Just don’t tell any of the hands or the neighbors or we’ll never live it down. That pie looks good,” he said, licking his lips.

  She pulled the plate against her protectively. “There are two teensy slivers in the corner cabinet behind the dried beans.”

  “But yours is ready-to-eat.”

  “By me,” she said firmly. She gave him a wary once-over and her gaze stopped at his hands. “How did you hurt your hands?”

  “Fixing a fence that borders a cranky neighbor.”

  She paused for a long moment, her face the picture of indecision, then she sighed. “Okay, come in the kitchen. You can have the pie, and I’ll clean your booboos.”

  He twisted his mouth in irony. “It’s been a long time since anyone called my scratches boo-boos.” It had been a long time since he’d allowed anyone to tend to him. The only reason he allowed it tonight was because he was so tired.

  “What about your dad?” she asked, leading the way back to the kitchen. Setting the plate and milk on the table, she reached into a cabinet and collected the first-aid kit and a cloth. She dampened the cloth and walked toward him.

  “My dad wasn’t much for babying us, especially after my mom died,” he said, sitting down in a kitchen chair.

  She pulled her chair next to him, sat, and gently cleaned his hands. “That must have been terribly sad for all of you.”

  “Yeah. I don’t think my dad ever recovered. He would have done anything for her, and she made the sun shin
e for him.”

  “How long were they married?”

  “About twelve years.”

  “That’s more love than some people see in a lifetime,” Felicity said, her voice holding a hint of longing.

  Brock let his gaze linger on her soft shiny hair and followed the strands down to her chest. The silk robe gaped slightly, revealing the swell of her naked breasts and one of her nipples. His body responded to the sight, to his ongoing need. He glanced away. “I hadn’t thought of it like that, but I guess they were lucky in a way. My marriage never came close to theirs.” He cleared his throat. “The Logan Curse strikes again,” he muttered.

  She glanced up at him quizzically. “The Logan Curse?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah. Historically, the Logan men haven’t done too well with women. We tend to lose them.”

  “You don’t really believe that, do you? That you’re cursed?”

  “I didn’t put much stock in it until I got a divorce. Since then, I decided to stay on the safe side.”

  “Which is?”

  “No more marriage for me,” he said.

  She nodded thoughtfully. “Oh.”

  “No woman is going to hear me say the words ‘will you marry me?”’

  She nodded again, smoothing antibiotic cream on his scrapes. “So, does that mean you’ve totally sworn off women?”

  He shook his head slowly, entwining the fingers of one of his hands through hers.

  “You should be nicer to your hands,” Felicity said softly.

  “Why?”

  “A musician should always protect what he uses to make music.”

  Brock chuckled. “I don’t think of myself as much of a musician.”

  She gave a secret, sensual smile. “Your children do.”

  He caught a hint of her sweet scent and felt the brush of her silk sleeve against his wrist. She was too far away. Tugging gently, he drew her onto his lap.

  “You haven’t eaten the pie,” she said in a slightly breathless voice.

  “I don’t want pie right now,” he told her.

  She swallowed, her eyes darkening with arousal. “Then what do you want?”

  “I want to kiss you,” he told her, sliding his thumb under her chin. “I want to find out what’s under this robe.”

  Her breath hitched. “Nothing interesting.”

  “Nothing interesting or nothing?” he asked.

  She didn’t speak, but let him lead her lips inexorably closer to his.

  “Nothing to say?” he prompted.

  “Not aloud,” she said and closed the distance between her mouth and his. Her lips were soft and tender, hungry. He felt her hunger in the stroke of her silken tongue over his bottom lip and the restless movements of her body. She wiggled her sweet bottom in his crotch, plucking at his frayed resistance.

  When she suckled his tongue into her mouth, he couldn’t stand it. He pushed aside the flimsy opening of her robe and touched her bare, warm skin. Cupping the swollen globes of her breasts, he fondled her tight nipples with his thumbs.

  She moaned and wiggled again, brushing against the part of him that throbbed for her, teasing him, making him so hard he ached. Brock slid his hands down to her waist, then farther. When he found her hips naked, the knowledge blew the top of his head off.

  He eased his fingers between her silky thighs and found her hot and wet. He brushed his thumb over her swollen bead of arousal, and she made a soft, sexual sound of longing. That sound made him want to take her on the kitchen table.

  She pulled slightly away, licking the taste of him on her lips, and tugged at his shirt buttons. She pushed aside the denim fabric and they both moaned when her breasts meshed with his chest.

  Brock rubbed against her, luxuriating in the sensation of her aroused nipples. He couldn’t get enough, couldn’t move fast enough. He lowered his mouth to take her nipple into his mouth, and she slid her fingers through his nape, urging him on. He continued to stroke her intimately, loving the feel of her wet, tight femininity and the sound of her pleasure.

  She lowered her hands to his thighs. He felt her slight hesitation before she caressed him. One more minute, and Brock was sure he would bust his fly.

  The front door swung open, penetrating their undivided attention on each other. Pulling back, Felicity stared at him in frozen silence. “Who?” she finally whispered.

  Brock tried to clear his head, but it was apparent his blood had settled in another part of his body, far far away from his brain. He shook his head. “Tyler.”

  The sound of footsteps coming spurred her into action. Glancing down at her completely exposed body, she gave a little squeak. “Omigod!” She scrambled to her feet, turned to the sink, and tied her robe.

  Brock fastened a few buttons on his shirt.

  “Hey!” Tyler said, entering the kitchen, coming to a stop. “I thought I was in charge of all the late-night refrigerator raids in this house.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Brock saw Felicity sprinkle water on her face and reach for a glass. “Addie made chocolate pie.”

  Tyler glanced at Felicity curiously. “And our silent partner has a weakness for chocolate.”

  She turned and smiled. Brock saw her lips tremble slightly, and vulnerability shone in her eyes. “Always,” Felicity said. “It looks like a few of the Logans do, too.”

  Brock noticed all the telltale signs of their passion, her tousled hair, her swollen lips, the flushed skin of her face and throat, the still-hard nipples thrust against her silk robe. For some odd reason, he didn’t like Tyler seeing her this way.

  He stood, drawing the attention away from her. “I didn’t get any dinner because I was out fixing a fence and collecting my prodigal cattle.”

  “Uh-oh. Not the Coltranes again.”

  Brock nodded and took a sip of the milk. At the moment, he would have considered trading his best stud for a bourbon. “It’s happened three times during the last six weeks. Some of their cattle end up on Triple L land, and they’ve accused us of stealing.”

  “What are you gonna do?”

  Brock shrugged. “I can’t watch that entire west boundary every minute during calving season, and I can’t build a fence through the stream, but I’ll send some men to check several times a day. The Coltranes have been a pain in the rear since they set foot in Texas.”

  “Spoken like a true Logan,” Tyler said, then winked at Felicity. “One of the Coltranes developed a fondness for my grandfather’s wife and tried to steal her away.”

  “He didn’t just try,” Brock corrected, remembering his father’s deep-seated bitterness with the Coltrane clan. “He seduced her and she died because the bastard drove off a cliff.”

  “The theory is that Coltranes are wife-stealers and they think the Logans are still trying to get back at them after all these years,” Tyler said. “Then again, if Grandma Logan left Granddad for another man, she must’ve been unhappy.”

  Felicity stepped from behind Brock. She appeared to have pulled herself together. “You have a lot of interesting stories in your family history.”

  “What about the great Chambeaus?” Tyler asked.

  She gave a winsome smile. “Maybe a few quirky stories. You have no idea how lucky you are to have siblings and cousins, family,” she said. “There are some things money can’t buy, and family is one of them.” She glanced at Brock, then looked away. “It’s my bedtime. Sweet dreams to both of you.”

  Felicity slowly climbed the stairs and walked past Jacob’s and Bree’s bedrooms, then past Brock’s room to the guest room. She was always careful not to allow herself to call the bedroom where she stayed her room because it wasn’t. At night, Felicity had time to think. Living with the Logans reminded her of things she would never have, things she craved, like a sense of belonging, being loved. They seemed to have no idea how blessed they were to have all their familial connections.

  She wrapped her arms around herself and sank down onto the bed, remembering how Brock had touched her just momen
ts before. She wondered what had gotten into her to make her lose control with him. She had felt needy and wanton, yet at the same time so needed and wanted. It had been a delicious combination and produced the oddest thrill that she, of all women, could make Brock Logan break some of his iron restraint. Dangerous, she thought.

  A knock on the door startled her. “Yes?”

  Brock pushed the door the rest of the way open. He carried a plate with a slice of pie. “You missed your late-night treat.”

  The gesture made her heart tighten, it made her foolishly think she could mean something to him. She blushed when she thought of how he’d touched her and how she’d responded. “Thank you,” she said, accepting the plate and turning away from him. She set the cake down on the nightstand. “I—I apologize. I don’t know what came over me. I—”

  “You’re sorry for what?”

  She cleared her throat. “My earlier behavior.”

  “Oh,” he said in a voice tinged with irony. “Why are you sorry? Because I told you I would never get married again?”

  She whirled around in surprise. “No. Actually that was refreshing.”

  Confusion and doubt furrowed his brow. “Refreshing?”

  She nodded. “Yes, refreshing. Several men have proposed to me. My mother always told me I should never assume that a man who asked me to marry him loved me, or for that matter, wanted me. So, since I know you’re not interested in marrying me, then the reason you—” She faltered, but made herself continue. “The reason you kissed me is because well, I affect you.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said, closing the door.

  It struck Felicity again that he was so tall, and that the controlled power in the very way he walked just did something to her. If that weren’t bad enough the expression in his eyes made her stomach feel as if she were stuck going up the down escalator at Macy’s.

  “So why are you sorry?”

  Felicity felt too warm. “Because I lost control.”

  “You didn’t like it.”