She leaned back against the seat as he drove the Jeep along the dirt road. He was taking her someplace he had never taken a woman. It was the second time it had happened that day.
He’d told himself to stay away from Carly, that it was what Joe would have wanted.
But it wasn’t what Linc wanted. Linc wanted Carly in his bed. He wanted her with a need he had never felt for another woman. He wanted her for more than a night, though how much longer he couldn’t say.
He thought of Joe and the promise he had made. But Joe Drake was a very smart man. He knew Linc and he knew his granddaughter. He must have considered what could happen. Carly wasn’t a fool, and Linc wasn’t the same wild kid he had once been.
A few minutes later he pulled up in front of the single-story red brick ranch house. Outbuildings dotted the open fields around it: a barn, and what he called his toy garage where he kept a pair of ATVs, a Prowler UTV, and other miscellaneous recreational gear.
Carly followed his lead and jumped down from the seat. He grabbed her overnight bag out of the back while she retrieved her laptop. Setting a hand at her waist, he guided her into the house. In the living room, he set down her bag.
Carly set her laptop down on a side table. “What is this place?”
“This is where I live. I stay in the big house when I’m entertaining, but when I’m at the ranch by myself, I stay here. This is my home.”
* * *
Carly just stared. Linc had brought her into his home. His inner sanctuary. When he said nothing more, she slipped off her heels and began to wander the living room, trailing a hand over the burgundy leather sofa that had to be at least nine feet long. There were brass studs around the rolled arms, the arms of both matching chairs, and the legs of the ottoman.
The furniture sat on a throw rug done in an Indian design in front of a big rock fireplace. The coffee table and end tables were very dark oak and they looked as if they carried some kind of brand.
“This is the original ranch house,” Linc said. “That’s our brand. Rocking BR—for Blackland Ranch.” Which explained the burn marks in the wood.
She studied the paintings on the walls, very Western, with herds of cattle being driven to market, one of a cowboy catching a nap on his horse. A colorful painting of a run-down roadhouse hung a few feet away, a group of men sitting on their motorcycles out in front.
She kept walking, spotted a wall of photos. Pictures of Beau Reesewith his race car, photos of Linc sitting on his motorcycle in his leathers with the guys she had met at Jubal’s.
She looked up at him. Everything about him appealed to her: his size, his strength, his intelligence.
“I’ve never brought a woman here before,” he said.
Carly went still.
“I don’t know where this is going,” he continued. “Neither of us can know that. I can pick up that bag and drive you back to the big house. You’ll have your own private suite. I’ll play the gentleman and we can take our time, get to know each other, play the game.”
She moistened her lips. She couldn’t manage a single word.
“Or you can stay here. There are two other bedrooms besides mine, but aside from the powder room, the only spare bathroom is down the hall. There’s no chef to cook for you, just me. No housekeeper to chaperone us. What’s it to be, Carly? You want to stay with the man who lives up at the big house? Or you want to stay with the man who lives here?”
Her throat felt tight. Her heart was beating, thumping inside her chest. Tension seemed to scorch the air between them. There were so many problems, so much she had to deal with. She couldn’t get involved with Lincoln Cain.
She took in a slow breath of air, her mind battling the desire pulsing through her body. Just looking at him made heat throb between her legs. She had never wanted a man the way she wanted Cain. Never felt this kind of need.
She picked up the suitcase and started down the hall, paused in front of the master suite. “Your room or the one next door?”
“Mine,” he said, his hot gaze like a fire burning into her flesh.
She dropped the bag just inside the door, turned, and walked back to him.
She slid her arms around his neck. “I want you to kiss me. You can’t imagine how much.”
His eyes moved over her face, fixed on her mouth. “I can’t make you any promises.” His big hands spanned her waist. “I don’t know how this is going to work.”
“I don’t need any promises.”
He dragged her hard against him and his mouth crushed down over hers. She could taste his hunger, his desire. His tongue was in her mouth and hers was in his. The kiss went on and on, deep and plundering, as if he couldn’t get enough. As if she couldn’t.
She wanted him out of his clothes, wanted him naked, wanted to be skin to skin, nothing but heat between them. She wanted him to touch her all over.
