Twins For The Texan

“We need to move this onto the bed,” he said. “Unless you like—”

“No, the bed is fine,” she managed.

He helped her remove the remainder of her clothes and then lifted her into his strong arms. He carried her to the turned-down bed and laid her there carefully.

Without saying a word, he kicked off his shoes and undressed for her, undoing his string tie, removing his jacket, shirt, belt and pants.

From what she could see from the sliver of moonlight streaming into the window, Wyatt met and exceeded her expectations. God, he was glorious above the waist, with brick shoulders and hard abs. And below, well, she took a huge gulp. He was definitely all man.

“Don’t ask me why,” he said, quite earnestly, “but I have protection.”

“That’s a relief,” she said softly. “I don’t.”

She hadn’t exactly planned on hitting the jackpot tonight, but she thought it odd that he would be apologizing for carrying protection. He’d said he was new to bachelorhood. She assumed he was divorced, yet she needed to ask. “Wyatt, just tell me one thing. You’re not married, are you?”

He stared into her eyes for a beat of a second and then shook his head. “No, I can promise you that.”

Relief took on a new meaning with that promise. “Then, as much as I like looking at you, I’d like to touch, too.”

He sighed, perhaps equally relieved. “Absolutely, darlin’.”

* * *

The first time Wyatt made love to her, it was an exploration of newness. They were careful with each other as she learned what he liked, while he provided what she wanted. There was heat and pleasure and a development of trust. She did trust Wyatt. She knew he wouldn’t abuse her in any way; he was far too much of a gentleman for that. But now, after a short respite, Wyatt was pulling her atop him, kissing her senseless again, and this time both of their guards were down.

“I want you again.” The urgent plea tore from his throat.

“I’m here,” she whispered, climbing up his body and giving him access to her breasts.

“I’m glad you are,” he said, tickling her nipple with the tip of his tongue. Both peaks pebbled up immediately, and wild stirrings began at the apex of her thighs.

Wyatt was the best lover she’d ever had. He could take her from zero to ninety with just a heated look or a bold caress. And he was doing just that with exquisite strokes of his tongue on her breast, the full circle of his mouth drawing her out, making every nerve ending ping and jump.

When he was through making her squirm in delight, he moved down her body, his hand gliding past her waist and his fingers tucking into her sensitive folds. He knew exactly how to caress her. He knew where she needed to be stroked and oh, he was merciless. She cried out, the pleasure so exquisite it was almost painful. Electric sensations rocked her back and forth until she could barely take it another second.

“Kiss me,” he ordered, and she obeyed.

And just as their tongues met, her body splintered apart, the amazing orgasm rocketing through her body with enough force to jerk her off the bed. She came down panting, the effects of her release almost mystifying her until she opened her eyes and saw Wyatt staring at her, his darkened gaze hot as fired metal.

He rolled her over onto her back and lifted her hips, positioning her. And then he was inside her again, this time without hesitation. He began thrusting, his erection hard and thick, pulsing with new life. He moved deeper and harder and brought her to the brink of insanity once more. “Come with me this time,” he rasped, his throat thick.

And they moved together, arching, aching, a beautiful joining of bodies in complete sync with each other. And when she was primed and eager and staring into his eyes, he tipped his head in acknowledgment. He knew she was ready. Then they rose up and bucked and cried out, her sighs meeting his groans. Her body shattered, just as his came apart.

It was glorious.

She was in heaven.

And she stayed up there awhile before slowly easing down.

Her limbs were weightless now. She felt like a sated rag doll, too limp to move. Wyatt scooped her up in his strong arms and surrounded her with his hot, perfect body. He kissed her cheeks, wove his fingers through her hair.

“Brooke,” he whispered over her lips.

“Mmm.” She’d never been happier. Or more tired.

“Sleep, darlin’.”

“Sorry, can’t help it.”

“It’s okay,” he said.

Wrapped up in his arms, she closed her eyes.

* * *

Wyatt opened his eyes to a dawn that had long ago broken through the shuttered windows of Brooke’s hotel room, streaming bright light inside. The digital clock read eight o’clock and he cursed silently as he untangled himself carefully from Brooke. His heart thumped in his chest as he glanced down at her, looking so peaceful, her eyes closed, that mane of raven hair falling down her back. His body strummed to life again, but he had no time to indulge or to say goodbye to Brooke. No time to look into those pretty brown eyes or hear the sultry tone of her voice.

He should’ve been on the road an hour ago. He was late, and he’d made Henrietta a promise. He couldn’t take advantage of her good nature. Weekends were precious to her.

“Dammit,” he muttered as he scrambled to step into his clothes. He hated leaving this way. There was a reason widowers shouldn’t have one-night stands. He was out of his element here. He had seconds to make a decision and God only knew if it was the right one, but time was wasting. He scribbled a note to Brooke and left it on the nightstand.

He had nothing to offer Brooke. He was still in love with Madelyn and he had no room for another woman in his life. Not that Brooke seemed to want anything but this one night together. She hadn’t asked him a bunch of questions the way women tended to do, and she hadn’t hinted at anything more. She was vacationing in Texas and had a life and a business on the West Coast.

The thoughts crowded his mind as he gave her one last glance.

He’d be forever grateful to her for this night. Brooke had helped him get through a tough day and they’d had a good time.

Actually, they’d had multiple good times during the evening.

End of story.

He walked to the door, not surprised by the regret burning a hole in his stomach. He didn’t usually walk out on women. But he couldn’t stay, either. It was better this way. For her. For both of them.

He turned the doorknob and strode out of the room, leaving Brooke and the Inn at Sweetwater behind.

More than an hour later he’d reached the gates of Blue Horizon Ranch. He was home, back where he belonged. But he’d thought about Brooke most of the way and he’d cursed his best friend, Johnny Wilde, for practically daring him to go to the wedding. Now he had guilt. And memories he couldn’t wash from his mind.

Was he a fool to think he was betraying his late wife by enjoying himself with another woman? Johnny would certainly think so. But then, what did he know? He’d been with too many women to count and he’d never found the right one, while Wyatt had met the love of his life and had married her. For that short time—only five years—they’d had together, he’d been happier than he thought possible.

And now he had his precious twins to think about.

He parked the car in front of the house and gave it a quick glance, just as a wave of pain jabbed his gut. He’d never quite gotten over the fact that Madelyn wouldn’t be here, greeting him after a trip. That her birthday had come and gone yesterday and there would be no more sweet kisses between them, no emerald sparks of joy in her eyes when he surprised her with a gift. “Sorry, Maddy.”

That day nine months ago had ripped his gut in two. Seeing the sheriff at his front door, hat in hand, his face solemn. Madelyn’s had an accident. I’m sorry, Mr. Brandt.

Wyatt shook off the memory. He had to get his ass inside the house. Henrietta’s youngest niece was coming to help him with the twins, so Henrietta could spend the weekend camping in their fifth wheel camper up at the river. Ralph, her husband, wasn’t a patient man. He’d been pressing her to retire, and she’d promised him she would as soon as Wyatt found a suitable nanny for the twins. Henrietta was as loyal as they came, and she was good with his kids, but she was exhausted lately. He’d catch her rubbing at her back and taking short naps in those rare times when the twins were both asleep. She’d been here since his folks lived at the ranch, and she was more like family than the help. Clearly, she didn’t want to leave Wyatt in the lurch without someone he trusted to care for his children, but the search wasn’t going well.

He entered his house and stood in the foyer, listening for baby sounds. “I’m home,” he said quietly, just in case Brett and Brianna were napping. And then he heard their voices coming from the great room, which substituted now as a giant playroom, and strode in that direction. His heart warmed immediately when he spotted his kids. The twins were toddling around on the floor, paying Carly no mind as she read them their favorite book, Goodnight Moon.

“Hi, Carly,” he said to the teenager.

“Oh, hi,” she said, glancing at him through her black-rimmed glasses.

At the sound of his voice, Brett, who was scooting a Lego truck along the hardwood floor, and Brianna, who was clutching her doll, abandoned their toys, flapped their arms excitedly and toddled over to him, their smiles lighting him up inside. He scooped both twins up in his arms. “Hello, my babies.”

He gave each a kiss on the cheek.

Brianna was more vocal than little Brett. “Daddy! Home. Daddy kisses.”

Brett stared at his sister first and then hugged Wyatt around the neck. Nothing was sweeter. Nothing helped his healing more than their unconditional love. He was constantly enveloped in sadness thinking that Madelyn would never know her children. And that his twins had been cheated out of a wonderful mother.

Henrietta walked into the room. Her sturdy build and cinnamon red hair piled in a tight bun atop her head gave her the appearance of a stern woman, but nothing was further from the truth. She was an old softy at heart. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, feeling like a heel.

“Not a problem, Wyatt. I hope you had a nice time at the wedding.”

An image of Brooke Johnson, naked and asleep in the bed he’d just left, popped into his head. “I did. It was good to see Blake again.”

“That’s nice. My Ralph is on his way. Carly’s been here, playing with the kids. She’ll help with feeding them later, and getting them down for their naps. I’ve got the weekend’s meals ready for you in the fridge.”

“Thanks, Etta.”

Carly stood, picking up a few toys from the floor as she rose. “I can stay overnight if you need me to, Mr. Brandt.”

“Thanks, Carly. Let’s see how the day goes. I might just need you to come back tomorrow, if you can.”

“I can do that, too,” she said.

“Okay, great.” Wyatt set the kids down and squatted onto the floor next to them. It was a tough balancing act, being in charge of a huge ranch corporation and being Daddy to his children. But he couldn’t let them down. They needed the stability of having him here most of the time, knowing that they came first, no matter what.

After Madelyn’s death, he’d relied heavily on Henrietta for support with the kids. But if he didn’t find a suitable nanny soon, old Ralph would march in here one day and threaten to knock his block off...with a shotgun.

He had three interviews with potential nannies later this week.

He could only hope.

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