Buckhorn Beginnings: Sawyer. Lori Foster
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“No.” She looked away, then made a face. “There’s only my father and my sister. My mother passed away when I was young.”
“I’m sorry.” He couldn’t imagine how he’d have gotten through life without his mother. She was the backbone of the family, the strongest person he knew and the most loving.
Honey shrugged. “It was a long time ago. I’m not very close with my father, but my sister and I are.”
“How old’s your sister?”
“Twenty-four.”
“How old are you?”
She looked at him suspiciously, as if he’d asked for her Social Security number. After a long hesitation, she admitted, “I’m twenty-five.”
He whistled. “Must have been rough for your father, two kids so close in age and your mother gone.”
She waved that away. “He hired in a lot of help.”
“What kind of help?”
“You know, nannies, cooks, tutors, pretty much everything. My father spent a lot of time at work.”
“Didn’t he do anything with you himself?”
She laughed, but there wasn’t much humor in the sound. “Not a lot. Dad wasn’t exactly thrilled to have daughters. I think that’s what he hated most about Mother dying—she hadn’t given him a son yet. He thought about remarrying a lot, but he was so busy with his business, and he worried that someone would divorce him and get part of it. He was a little paranoid that way.”
Sawyer looked her over, searching her face, seeing the signs of strain. She’d put up a brave front, but he could see the hurt in her blue eyes and knew there was a lot about her life that hadn’t always been satisfactory. “Sounds like a hell of a childhood you had.”
Color washed over her cheeks, and she ducked her face. “I didn’t mean to complain. We had a lot more than most kids ever do, so it wasn’t bad.”
Except it didn’t sound like she’d had a lot of love or affection or even attention. Sawyer had always appreciated his family, their support, the closeness, but now he realized just how special those things were. They came without strings, without restriction or embarrassment, and were unconditional.
She was still looking bashful over the whole subject, so he decided to let it drop. At least for now. “I guess if you’re going to take that bath, we should get on with it or you’ll miss dinner. And Jordan really outdid himself tonight for you.”
“Now Jordan’s cooking?”
He shrugged. “We take turns. Nothing fancy. I told him to make it light since I wasn’t sure what you’d feel up to. He’s got chicken and noodles in the Crock-Pot, and fresh bread out of the bread machine.”
She shook her head. “Amazing. Men who cook.”
Laughing, Sawyer reached for her and helped her out of the bed. She clutched at the top blanket, dragging it off the mattress and disturbing the cat, who looked very put out over the whole thing. Honey apologized to the animal, who gave her a dismissive look and recurled herself to sleep.
“You’ll have cat hair in the bed.”
“I don’t mind if you don’t. It’s your bed.”
“You’re sleeping in it.”
They stared at each other for a taut, electric moment, then Honey looked away. Her hands shook as she busied herself by wrapping the blanket over and around her shoulders. It dragged the ground, even hiding her feet.
He supposed that was best; even though the jersey covered her from shoulders to knees, he didn’t want his brothers ogling her—and they would. They were every bit as aware of an attractive woman as Sawyer, and Honey, in his opinion, was certainly more attractive than most. His brothers might not comment on the sexy picture she made with her hair disheveled, her feet bare and her slender body draped in an overlarge male shirt, but they’d notice.
She seemed steadier now, but he kept his right arm around her and held her elbow with his left hand, just in case. She was firmly in his embrace, and he liked it.
To get his mind off lusty thoughts and back on the subject at hand, he asked, “Don’t you know any men who cook?”
She sent him an incredulous look. “My father’s never even made his own coffee. I doubt he’d know how. And my fiancé took it for granted that cooking was a woman’s job.”
They’d almost reached the door, and Sawyer stopped dead in his tracks. His heart punched against his ribs; his thighs tightened. Without even realizing it, his hands gripped her hard as he turned her to face him. “You have a fiancé?”
Her eyes widened. The way he held her, practically on her tiptoes, pulled her off balance, and she braced her palms flat against his chest. He saw her pupils dilate as awareness of their positions sank in. “Sawyer…”
Her voice was a whisper, and he barely heard her over the roaring in his ears. He pulled her a little closer still, until her body was flush against his and her heartbeat mingled with his own. “Answer me, dammit. Are you engaged?”
She didn’t look frightened by his barbaric manner, which was a good thing since he couldn’t seem to get himself in hand. That word fiancé was bouncing off his brain with all the subtlety of a bass drum. If she was going to be married soon…
“Not…not anymore.”
“What?” He was so rattled, he wasn’t at all sure he understood.
“I’m not engaged, not anymore.”
Something turbulent and dangerous inside him settled, but in its place was a sudden blast of violent heat, an awareness of how much her answer had mattered to him.
He looked down at her mouth, saw her parted lips tremble, and he went right over the edge. He leaned down until he could feel her warm breath on his mouth, fast and low, and the vibrancy of her expectation, her own awareness.
And then he kissed her.
CHAPTER FIVE
HONEY CLUTCHED at him, straining to make the contact more complete. Her blanket fell to the floor in a puddle around her feet. She barely noticed.
She didn’t think about what was happening, and she didn’t think about pulling away. Overwhelmed by pure sensation, by heat and need she’d never experienced before, she wanted only to get closer. She’d thought the attraction was one-sided, but now, feeling the faint trembling in Sawyer’s hard body, she knew he was affected, too.
Sawyer’s mouth was warm and firm, and he teased, barely touching her, giving her time to change her mind, to pull back. Until she groaned.
There was an aching stillness for half a heartbeat, then his mouth opened on hers, voraciously hungry, and his hands slid around to her back, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe. She felt the hot slide of his tongue and the more brazen press of his swollen sex against her belly. A delicious sensation of yearning unfurled inside her, making her thighs tingle and her toes curl. Her fever was back, hotter than ever.
A knock sounded on the door.
They both jumped apart, Sawyer with a short vicious curse, Honey with a strained gasp. She almost fell as her feet tangled in the forgotten blanket, and would have if Sawyer hadn’t reached out and snagged her close again. He stared down into her face, his expression hard, his gaze like glittering ice, then called out, “What?”
The door opened and Jordan stuck his head in. He took one look at them, made a sheepish face and started to pull it shut again.
Sawyer caught the doorknob, keeping the door open. “What is it?”
Honey fumbled for the blanket, wishing