Braving The Storm: An Age Gap, Cowboy Romance (Crimson Ridge Book 2)
Braving The Storm: Chapter 9

Driving around Crimson Ridge, after nightfall, when it’s fucking freezing out isn’t ideal.

Snow is the worst, too. Sure, it’s all pretty when it’s flaky and puffy in the sky, but then that shit sticks to the ground and melts and turns to ice… and, well, this place has got snow on fucking bulk order, shipped in for months at a time.

However, being out here, piles of snow on the sides of the roads and all, sure as hell, is a better option than remaining trapped in that cabin. I’m damn near crawling out of my skin, my blood racing and itching beneath the surface, longing to reach out for the girl I am supposed to be about as interested in as a shovel.

Maybe I need to replace myself one and just dig myself a goddamn hole, bury my black soul in there, and be done with it.

Half of this town already believes the worst of me. The other half are morbidly curious.

I certainly deserve to bury myself in the pit of shame at the dirty fucking thoughts I keep having about my own damn niece. What the hell is wrong with me? It’s like someone flipped a switch and glitched the universe, and I’ve gone from enjoying the idea of a little fun with anyone, any warm and willing hole, to now having an unhealthy obsession with knowing what Briar looks like naked.

With one hand I grip the steering wheel harder, the other scrubs over my mouth.

Fuck. My. Rotten. Life.

How long she’s staying for is another giant goddamn issue. I don’t know and, quite frankly, have been too shit scared to ask because I’m terrified of the possibility she might fix those glittering eyes on mine and part those pouty lips and tell me in her breathy little voice that she isn’t going anywhere.

That she intends to stay, permanently.

If so, what the hell am I going to do? I can’t spend my life sleeping on the couch fantasizing about how experienced my niece is at sucking cock. Whether she likes her ass being played with at the same time as running my tongue over her clit. And I certainly can’t spend all day wondering how her nipples might taste if I were to pinch a hard little bud between my teeth.

Christ, I need to stop thinking about her tits.

It’s become an occupational hazard by this point. I nearly drove a nail through my thumb earlier today because I was too distracted by the sight of her helping out in the barn.

Once she started talking about decorating and buying shit for the cabin… it stirred something up inside me, and I’m too much of an asshole to stop and look properly at what that might be.

Getting my ass the hell out of there was the only option.

My phone buzzes where I’ve sat it in my cup holder next to the pair of pliers I always have floating around in here. Tapping the screen, I can see it’s a text from Beau.

I pull over, turning down the music so I can reply now while I’m still in reception. At least that’s one benefit of being in Crimson Ridge at this hour: my phone can pick up regular texts. Even if it’s just a rodeo buddy wanting to shoot the shit, it’ll take my mind off Briar temporarily.

Dots bounce on the screen, then pause.

Yeah, I do. Beau has it even worse, considering he’s been married to country music’s golden girl and in the spotlight for as long as I’ve known him. The world has been hanging out for every possible crumb of a sign pointing to when and where they might finally get to the point of popping out a few kids.

Hell, even I initially thought the fact Beau purchased his ranch out here was going to be the moment they finally took the plunge and did the big ol’ happily married with a white picket fence bullshit.

Some might even say his pro career only happened the way it did because of the impact her superstardom brought his way. Sponsors and opportunities that mere mortals could only dream of landed in his lap, fawning over his every move once they caught sight of them holding hands one time.

That shit went viral overnight.

Doesn’t take away from the fact he’s a fucking outstanding athlete and rider. But he’s had more than the rub of the green being hitched to her star.

Even if it’s secretly been hell for more years than not.

I toss my phone back in the holder. It’s late now, after my evening of aimlessly driving and driving and driving.

While I don’t know if I’m ready to head back up the mountain, I’m also itching to get back. What the fuck is the deal with this permanent carousel of conflicting emotions? It’s like I can’t shrug off the weird set of feelings that have landed and claimed their territory and now refuse to leave.

So, I guess that’s why I replace myself making a direct line back to the cabin. By the time I haul myself out of the cab and drag my heels to head inside, my neck is killing me, my spine feels like it’s been put through a meat grinder, and I’ve got the hips of an eighty-year-old.

With the best will in the world, there’s no way I’d be fucking anyone tonight; they’d be having to do all the work riding me while I starfished on my back the whole time.

Fortunately for my sanity, and my perverted goddamn brain, the cabin is quiet as I slip past the threshold, shedding my hat and jacket, and my boots get the same treatment dropped beside the door. When I take a glance down the hallway, there’s no light coming from the bedroom. Hopefully, she’s long gone to sleep.

I didn’t miss the hurt look sliding across her face when I ran out earlier. But I’d rather she’s pissed with me than deal with the other problem—that I was way too fucking close to doing something even more regrettable than spying on her while getting naked.

I roll my shoulders, feeling every crunch and knot, then stretch my neck side to side. My mind runs through the few things I need to handle before another sleepless torture session on the couch. Stoking the fire back up and tossing some fresh logs into the flames only reminds me of precisely how sore and exhausted I am.

Nothing some pills and a little muscle rub won’t fix.

Reaching behind my head, I tug my shirt off and wander down to the bathroom in the dark, mentally preparing myself, playing that old familiar game—the one where you grit your teeth and try to convince yourself your back isn’t killing you. Used to play that one a lot after a particularly gnarly bull ride. It’s real fun.

I flip on the lamp over the mirror and open the medicine cabinet, rummaging around looking for painkillers I know I’ve got stashed, and some rub I’m sure was in here last time I checked.

“Oh, shit… sorry.” A raspy, sleepy voice comes from behind me. When I spin around, Briar hovers in the doorframe. And oh, fuck she’s in only a baggy hoodie and skimpy sleep shorts, rubbing her brow with bleary eyes squinting at the light. “I woke up and thought I must have left the light on by accident.”

She starts to back away, then as her hand drops from her eyes, they go wide, obviously waking up real quick as she notices the half-dressed state we’re both in. Or maybe that’s just my filthy imagination, but it’s far too easy to imagine a much better version of this scene.

I’d much prefer to have her ass perched beside the hand basin, knees spread, those tiny shorts tugged to one side while I’m knuckles deep inside her pussy as she moans against my neck.

My fist tightens around the tube of cream and packet of pills, making the foil crinkle. I figure the only way out of this is to shrug her off and sulk away in the direction of the lounge with a boner I can’t do anything about and will feel guilty as hell if I dare touch.

Because that asshole shouldn’t be perking up at the sight of my niece. Yet, here I am, already thinking about her completely naked, bent over this very counter, with her heavy tits, and oh my fucking god, the situation in my jeans is not being helped the longer I stand here.

“Bathroom’s all yours. Night.” Grunting, full caveman style, I set my jaw and prepare to squeeze past her.

Keep your eyes to yourself. Do not look at her tits, or ass, or bare thighs. Jesus.

“Wait, what have you done to yourself? Are you injured?” She shoots out a hand in the direction of my shoulder, then stops, fingers hovering in midair before dropping back down to her side.

“It’s nothing.”

Her eyes scan over the items clenched in my fist.

“Oh my god. I knew it.”

My neck prickles. I can’t stay here with her. Not this close. Not this late at night.

“Just leave it, Briar.”

“You’re in pain, aren’t you? Every time I keep asking, you keep brushing it off. Stop being an idiot about this and let me help.”

Maybe I’m too tired, or maybe I’m just a bad, bad man, but I hesitate. And in that moment, she turns into the world’s most tempting nurse.

Fuck a slutty Halloween costume where chicks have their tits and ass hanging out in a miniature white dress with a fake stethoscope dangling around their neck.

This is more dangerous… a thousand times more alluring.

“Sit.” She jabs a finger in the direction of the bedroom, herding me in there like I’m an unruly calf.

“You’re mighty bossy for this time of night, little thorn.” The wince shoots across my face before I can disguise it as I lower down and perch on the edge of the bed. My own fucking bed. One that is currently rumpled with the covers thrown back because she’s been sleeping in here.

Her scent drifts up, gently, subtly coiling through my awareness as soon as I’m seated.

“Well, you’re getting me at my optimal social powers. The middle of the night is when I’m known to be the most tolerant of idiot uncles crashing around in the dark.”

That draws a chuckle out of me.

“Can I give your bedside manner a rating? I’m already sensing there might be room for improvement.”

“No. But you can take those pills and hand me that muscle rub and do as you’re told.”

“What’s your preferred place for review? Is there a website that I can log into?”

Briar swipes everything out of my hands, rolling her eyes at me. While I’ve been teasing her, she’s moved close enough to be standing almost between my knees. She pops two painkillers out of their casing, drops them into my hand, pressing a pastel pink water bottle into my other. It matches the shade painted on her nails. There’s stickers and shit on the outside, but I’m too distracted by the girl caged in by my legs. I didn’t even notice her collect it off the nightstand, too preoccupied with this unguarded version of the girl in front of me.

“Cute,” I murmur. Eyeing her as I chuck the pills back and let the cold water chase them down. Hopefully, she thinks I’m talking about the water bottle. I should be talking about the water bottle.

“What part hurts most?” She watches me swallow the painkillers, keeping her eyes firmly on my face.

My niece is trying very, very hard not to look at my naked chest. And I’m that much of a prick that I’m soaking up every second of her squirming in place.

“Told you, I’m fine.” I set the bottle at my feet. As I lean forward, a sharp, searing pain rockets through the fleshy part between my shoulder and neck, like I’ve been stuck with a cattle brand.

“Anghhh. Fuckkk.” I don’t even get to fully register that she’s touching my bare skin because this girl just savagely dug her knuckle into the knot that’s been building there all week.

“Oh, good. You’re absolutely right. Completely fine.” Briar huffs. “Jesus, you’re as bullheaded as those creatures you used to climb on. Sit still.”

The cap on the tube clicks, and the bed dips, and that’s when my mind blanks.

Briar’s soft hands are on me. They’re covering my muscles and my aches, and she’s kneeling on the bed behind my back, so close her hoodie brushes up against my spine over and over.

“Tell me if there’s a spot in particular you want me to work on.”

I bite my tongue so hard there’s surely going to be blood coating my teeth after this is all done. Maybe I’ll have bitten the damn thing clean in two.

She methodically works over the tension in my shoulder until I wince again.

“Sorry,” she murmurs. “But you kind of deserve it after refusing to admit this was causing you pain.”

Yeah, the kind of tormented agony caused by my back, the shitty couch, and the pretty young niece sleeping in my bed.

“Does that feel any better?” She gentles over the particularly sore knot, working it, easing it, deftly kneading and rubbing, and driving me insane with how good it feels to have her hands on me.

Thousands of sparks ripple along my nerves. Every place she glides her palms and fingertips over hums with deep satisfaction.

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Mmhm.” It’s official. Briar has rendered me incapable of logic or speech. All that keeps thundering around inside my brain is an awareness that, goddamn, this feels amazing.

I can’t think of the last time someone touched me like… this, and please don’t let her stop anytime soon. I don’t want her to stop. I’ve had women’s hands cover every inch of flesh on my body, yet it’s always been with a singular goal in mind. Sex.

But this… this is veering into unfamiliar realms. A place where reality has warped, distorting like ancient glass. For whatever reason, the stunning girl who I shouldn’t be noticing, let alone craving, has willingly entered into this momentary blurring of lines between us.

Maybe this is the price I’d be prepared to pay. Torture my body on the daily if it gets me the ultimate prize, or goddamn punishment, of my niece’s hands all over my naked back and shoulders.

Because it’s a kindly gesture, but also an incredibly fucking intimate one. It allows a tiny spark to rekindle and begin glowing around the idea that Briar might be a whole lot more interested in her uncle than she should be.

Shit. Even to myself I sound drunk thinking like that. I must be drugged by her closeness, the attention I’ve never received without it being in return for something. While the black humor and dripping irony is that I’ve lost track of the number of times in my life, a set of false eyelashes fluttered my way with a not-so-subtle offer to come back to my hotel room and give me a massage. Rather than one of those times I had a nameless buckle bunny offer to give me a rub down after an event, I’d trade any of those moments for the guarantee it could be the gorgeous girl at my back with her hands on me.

A girl who is entirely off-limits.

Feeling like a horse getting a thorough grooming, my muscles dip into that drowsy state… relaxed and heavy. I’m in some sort of trance, bespelled by her deft touch and ability to ease the tension and aggressive ache that I’ve been carrying around.

“Better, Uncle Storm?” Her voice is more throaty than before. Jesus, is that what she sounds like when she’s turned on? I’m such a sick fuck because hearing her call me uncle in that voice makes my cock jerk.

My blood quickens as she slides off the bed and comes to stand in front of me.

Christ. Why does my throat feel dry, and what happened to forming words? Every single letter of the alphabet has flown out of my brain. I have to squeeze my fists against the temptation to reach for the backs of her thighs. She’s right fucking there. Within arm’s reach and close enough, the material of my jeans brushes up against her soft skin.

My niece stands close enough for me to say a proper thank you.

One that involves no words being spoken, but certainly would put my mouth and tongue, to good use.

“Need something else?” I swear she nearly whispers the words.

Goddamn, is she fucking with me?

“No. Thanks, that’s much better.” Holy shit. I croak something out. The air swirls heavy and potent between us, and Briar isn’t moving away.

I stare up at her. Dark eyes framed beneath a thick curtain of lashes. Her cheeks are dusted with a tinge of pink. Full mouth hangs open ever so slightly.

“Good.” She breathes, teeth catching her bottom lip for just a second. The flicker of her eyes is so quick I could almost convince myself it didn’t happen. But it did. It does. She lets her eyes drop to my mouth before bouncing, startled, back up to hold my gaze. “Sleep well. Good night.”

She’s gone before I can say anything. Disappearing out into the lounge, leaving me there, on my own bed, with a raging hard-on, the ghost of her touch lingering on my skin, and surrounded by her intoxicating scent.