2
Dane
"We let her slip right through our fucking fingers," Drake bemoaned our situation for the fifteenth time in as many minutes. “Why did we let Hannah Sharp talk for so long? Hannah fucking Sharp.”
I kept silent. I'd long since learned the best way to deal with Drake was to let him get his bitching out.
"So," he said, handing me a length of looped rope. "What's the plan?"
I hung the rope on the wall, then made a note in the safety program on our tablet. We were starting from scratch with this adventure tourism gig. Everything had to be perfect before we even considered signing up customer number one.
Not that I was worried. Twelve years in the Marines had taught us both to be prepared for any situation, and the old ranch was perfectly positioned for this venture.
We'd purchased the parcel of cleared land where reformed city slickers had once tried to run a small herd of cattle—it hadn't exactly worked out for them. But the ranch was surrounded bythe mountains of the national park to the east and the coastline to the west.
We were about a twenty-minute drive from town and less than that to some great wineries and farm-to-plate restaurants. The house itself sat on an elevated part of the block. For all their foolishness, the former owners had done an excellent job of building what could only be described as a beach-meets-farm. Six bedrooms, three bathrooms, multiple living areas, a basement, an attic, and a library, were all offset by a giant porch that looked out over the ocean. I'd taken one walk around the house and made an offer on the property.
We'd already submitted the required plans and permissions to the county for approval for our resort. We planned to have year-round eco-lodges available and couple that with adventure and wilderness activities. We planned to be all-terrain all the time. Now we were just waiting for the damn council members to pull their fucking fingers out so we could get the building started. In the meantime, we'd run our tour business, taking rich assholes out to climb mountains and paddle canoes and feel like real men for once in their lives.
Though I’d be leaving the customer service to Drake.
"The plan?" Drake prompted again.
I saved the additions in the program, shutting down the tablet and tucking it under my arm. "We track her down."
I'd already put a call into Mr. Henderson.
"And?"
"We convince her to give us a chance." I let my stoicism slip just a fraction, the anticipation getting the better of me. "And based on her reaction in the store yesterday, I don't expect that'll be hard."
Drake shifted, running a hand over his crotch. "No," he agreed. "Did you see those nipples?"
I had. Her reaction to us had been instantaneous. The flush, the brief flash of desire, her pulse fluttering madly at her neck.
You'll be ours soon, Baby.
"But damn," Drake continued. "If I'm not hard as a fucking stone in the meantime."
I lifted an eyebrow. "You asking for somethin'?"
He grinned, spreading his arms wide in welcome. "Only if you're offering."
"Back against the wall, unzip."
Drake backed up, that sly grin now permanently fixed on his face. Leaning against the wall, his big hands dropped to his fly. He paused, drawing the moment out, letting me know he wasn't so easily controlled.
Oh, just wait.
He shifted, hands going up to pull his shirt off. He tossed it aside, dropping his hands back to his crotch.
I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms. "Did I tell you to take that off?"
His grin was quick and dirty. "As if you're not interested in seeing this." He slid a hand down his abs, hooking it into the front of his jeans.
"You need to learn patience," I told him, not moving an inch.
"And you need to learn how to give in,” he returned, fingers now pulling at his fly. He lowered the zipper, peeling his jeans and briefs down his legs. He paused for a second, pulling off his boots and socks before rising, arms outstretched in welcome.
