Cait London - Typical Male

She burned, his ragged breath sweeping across her face. She couldn’t let the excitement escape her, and locked her arms around his shoulders. Tyrell groaned, trembled and hefted her higher. Locking her legs around his hips, wrestling to keep that heat and excitement close, Celine almost sent them toppling to the ground. Tyrell spun and leaned back against his four-wheeler, his tongue flicked greedily at her lips, his face burning against hers. His big hands cupped her bottom, and when his mouth tore away from hers, she cried out softly.

His black stare shot down to lock on her shirt, her breasts pushed against his chest He began to tremble and because she couldn’t resist his uncertain, wary look, she stroked his hot cheek. He looked as if he’d explode, his familiar scowl down at her deepening. “Now you’ve done it,” he muttered and placed his hands on her waist, firmly removing her.

She ached for that warmth, for the hard safety of his arms. She didn’t know what to do, her body trembling.

Tyrell impatiently mopped the curls from her face, studied her and shook his head. He looked up at the cloudy night and groaned. He stared at Else, who was standing in front of the open door, her arms crossed in a forbidding stance. He issued a bearlike, frustrated growl, ran his hands through his hair and down his jaw and glared at Celine. She hovered there, stunned, licking her sensitive bottom lip and tasting his hunger.

Celine couldn’t worry about the matron of the Blaylocks defending her little brother. The Precious Baby of the Blaylocks had—Stunned, Celine touched her bottom lip. It throbbed and tasted of him, dark and moody and exciting. “You bit me,” she said. “You...bit...me,” she repeated, her tone rising indignantly as she wondered where to hit him. “That was a definite nip. Just exactly why would you kiss or nip me?”

Glaring at her, he didn’t answer and he had to pay. To add just one more torment in Tyrell Blaylock’s life, she turned to Else and yelled cheerfully, “I’m not pregnant.”

The shocking insinuation that she could be expecting Tyrell’s baby was certain to cost him.

Tyrell did that frustrated bear-growl thing again, low in his throat, and grabbed her shoulders; he turned and pushed her toward the house. She dug in her heels and turned to him. “You’re just so typical male, you know. If you can’t get something one way, you try for another. Nipping will not be tolerated, Blaylock.”

With a dark, threatening look at her, Tyrell jerked open the car door and slid inside. Still staring at her, he flipped on the ignition, jerked the car into gear and tore into the dark, sweet rain-scented night.

Celine stared at him; little aftershocks zipped through her body as though she’d just stepped out of a tropical storm into the cool night. Low in her body was the most peculiar ache. She glanced at Else and found a thumbs-up sign. Celine tried a smirk and it died; she was instantly aware of the cold without Tyrell’s arms around her.

At her side, Else placed an arm on Celine’s shoulder, ignoring her stiff body. “Well, I guess you gave him something to think about. My brother has been holing up on his mountaintop for six months, rebuilding that run-down old cabin, and you got him down among the living.”

Celine snorted. “He’s mourning Hillary-poo.”

“That out-for-money, moral-less witch,” Else stated vehemently and handed Celine a thick turkey-and-cheese sandwich on a paper plate.

Celine’s empty stomach clenched at the sight of food. She wanted to reject it, not wanting to take something from a Blaylock, but instead she picked it up and began munching. “Thanks.”

“Anytime. Do you want to come inside and have a glass of fresh cow’s milk to go with that?”

Celine shook her head, her mouth too stuffed to talk. She studied the older woman, a tall, older and feminine version of Tyrell. She seemed kind and a friend. “I’d like you to stay with us. Just for the night,” Else said.

“My tent is in my pickup. It’s just up the road. Thank you, but I’d better be going,” Celine said and hitched her backpack up on her shoulder. She didn’t want to think about the Blaylocks being kind and friendly. There was no reason for the Blaylocks to accept her, to make a stranger welcome. Cutter had said they weren’t to be trusted and the unexpected warmth raised her guard.

Then there was that Tyrell-kiss. She wanted to yank it from her and stomp it dead with her boots. She wanted to kill the taste of his hunger and the racing excitement within her. She wanted to relieve her temper with a really good yell.

She was just around the bend of the tree-lined country road, when the sound of an engine purred behind her. A glance at the vehicle without headlights told her it was Tyrell’s. She kept on walking, turning to punctuate her dislike of him with a glare. He didn’t take the hint, parking beside the road while she set up her tiny tent beside her pickup. Then his headlamps seared her and Tyrell drove away.

Celine threw a rock in his direction and knew it wouldn’t hit the gleaming metal monster. “Take that, Blaylock,” she muttered. Thanks to Tyrell Blaylock, the man she’d ruined, it was going to be a long, angry night.

Three

Tyrell slapped the file on Roman Blaylock’s desk. His brother’s upscale computer had provided everything Tyrell needed to dig into Celine’s life. The printed pages left little to the imagination; Celine had had a hard life. Her resources were next to nothing and after the deaths of her father and grandfather, she’d worked overtime—taking overseas and any high-paying job—to build a small nest egg. Those funds from an international bank had been withdrawn just days before her arrival on his mountain. Celine had pitted everything against the Blaylocks and on Cutter’s lie. “Thanks for the use of the computer.”

An older brother, just as tall and powerful, Roman stared at him levelly, reflecting the same strong planes and dark Blaylock features. “I’m glad you stopped by. Make it a point, will you? But not at bedtime?”

Tyrell’s family didn’t know of the cracks in his life, but they knew that he’d come back to roam the wild mountains he loved above the valley. They knew he needed peace and didn’t question his life away from them.

Roman’s ranch held part of the original Blaylock land that Cutter Lomax had claimed was stolen from him. Roman was also the executor of Boone Llewlyn’s estate, which included his ranch and ten thousand acres—minus one thousand that had been signed over to Paloma Blaylock, Rio’s wife. Roman, his wife, Kallista, his son, Kipp, and Cindi, his adopted daughter, lived in the addition; Roman had an up-to-date office in Boone’s turn-of-the-century house.

“It’s eleven o’clock at night, my son Kipp is dreaming one-year-old toddler dreams, and my wife is waiting for me,” Roman stated, in a firm get-lost tone. “I’d appreciate it if for tonight you’d find someone else to bother, or hike on back up to that cabin. You’ve been at my house twice in three days. Gee, why am I so lucky? You’ve wintered up there in Micah’s old cabin since you came back in January. Then suddenly, you come down to suck up my wife’s lasagna and sprawl, stuffed full, on my couch. Now you need a computer after months without one.”

Tyrell lifted an eyebrow. He’d felt like a stray cat on Roman’s doorstep. The warmth of his brother’s household and his obvious deep love for his wife caused Tyrell to feel even more of an outsider. He’d missed so much.

He’d resented the need for cooking other than his own, but he wanted to see his new nephew, to hold him. Tyrell needed to see Roman’s adopted daughter, Cindi, who was lively and a real challenge. He needed to know that simple loving lives went on in his family. “You probably gave Cindi the idea to paint my toenails and braid my hair.”