The Grump Whisperer (Morningsong Farm #1)

Nine

B ronwen sat at the kitchen table, a plate with a huge piece of cake in front of her. Ian was stationed at the sink, rinsing dishes.

“I can’t possibly eat all of this,” she protested.

Ian slid a look in her direction. “Try. You can’t exist on canned soup.”

She laughed. “I don’t. Really.” She couldn’t resist adding, “Sometimes I make ramen noodles.”

He turned to glare at her, but she knew him just well enough now to see the hint of a twinkle in his eyes.

“Anyway, you already fed me chicken and homemade soup and bread—I’m hardly going to starve.” She watched as he washed the dishes by hand, since the old house didn’t have a dishwasher. “And if you give me a minute, I’ll do the dishes. You don’t have to cook for me and clean up, as well.”

She’d arrived at the house after checking in with Abigail and satisfying herself that the horses were tucked into their stalls and comfortably munching on their hay. She’d taken a shower, run a comb through her hair and told herself for the millionth time that she’d go get a proper haircut soon. Then she’d put on her only clean pair of jeans and a decent long-sleeved T-shirt—Ian had so far only seen her filthy and covered in hay and horse hair, so she figured this was a major improvement.

And then she’d headed up to the house and found Ian, devastating in a plain white button-down shirt and jeans, hair still damp from his own shower, and an entire meal better than she’d had in months in process. They’d eaten and talked horses, Ian asking about the farm’s various residents and noting everything he’d learned about Hades’s rather strong personality during his time observing him. It had been...companionable. Comfortable.

But the memory of their kiss was never far from her thoughts, tugging at her to decide whether she wanted Ian as a temporary friend or a temporary...something else.

“You’re a guest,” he said now. “Besides, I haven’t had the chance to be this domestic in years.”

She was sure that was true—the professional show-jumping circuit was grueling and involved a lot of travel. But she wondered about the last time he had been domestic. What was he doing, years ago, that had given him experience with all of this cooking and cleaning?

She didn’t ask, but instead took a bite of cake. It was some kind of vanilla almond, with what she guessed was lemon icing. “Oh my God,” she said. “This is incredible.”

Ian dried his hands and turned to lean his back against the counter. “Good.”

“You made this whole cake and didn’t even try it?” If she had these kinds of baking powers, she’d have eaten the whole thing in one sitting.

But he shook his head. “I used to, when I started baking. But like I said, I’m not really a sweets person. And I already know my cakes are good.”

He said it without an ounce of arrogance, someone wholly confident in the simple fact of their abilities. He had probably been the same about his riding, which had been at least as successful as his baking. But he could still make an incredible cake, while the riding... What a waste, she thought. And then called herself the hypocrite she was. She might not have been on Ian’s level, but she’d been a good rider with a bright future in front of her. And now she hadn’t been on a horse in years, when physically she could go down to the barn right now and hop onto her horse’s back.

Unlike Ian.

“When does your sister get back?” she asked, thinking the future was probably a safer topic of conversation than the past.

Ian shrugged. “I’m not sure. A few weeks, I think. It’s a postdivorce getaway. So, a little open-ended.”

Bronwen considered that. A few weeks—there were a lot of possibilities in a few weeks. With Hades, with Ian, with herself and Ian. If he was even interested. But she wasn’t going to bring that up. Yet.

“Good for her,” she said. She took a bite of cake and swallowed. “What will you do then?”

If she had been looking down at the cake instead of at Ian, she would have missed the way his body tensed, the way the warm light went out of his blue eyes. Maybe the future wasn’t any safer than the past after all.

He didn’t answer right away, but she didn’t push. She didn’t let him off the hook, either.

Eventually, he said, “I don’t know.”

And she thought that might be the end of what he was willing to share, so she ate the rest of her cake in silence and brought the plate up to the sink, washing it herself.

Maybe the fact that she was occupied made it easier for him to continue, because he did.

“I don’t know where I’ll go or what I’ll do. In the meantime, I’ll make sure everything here keeps going. Whatever help you need. But once Anne gets here, I’ll go somewhere else.” She sneaked a look at him. His hands were in his pockets, his forehead furrowed as he stared across the room. “Somewhere without horses. That much, I’ve decided.”

Bronwen started. “Really? I know you can’t ride anymore, but—”

“No horses,” he repeated firmly. “No horses, and no horse people. I’m done with that whole world.”

Bronwen blinked at the force behind the words, as if he was trying to convince her of something. Or himself.

“But you could train, or teach, or...or do anything you wanted in the showing world. People think so highly of you.”

She’d learned that much. Every online article about Ian emphasized his strength, his integrity, his humor—the last of which she’d only seen the tiniest sliver of, it seemed. They said he was a wizard with horses, that he could ride anything. Get the best out of any horse. How could he turn his back on that kind of talent?

But he was shaking his head. “I’m done. No more riding, and no more horses. I need something as far from that as I can get. And while I’m here...” The edge that had been in his voice that first morning when she’d barged in on him was making a reappearance. She thought now that it must be a defensive mechanism. Or a way of convincing himself he was colder than a man who’d willingly take on the care of an unmanageable stallion could possibly be. “I’ll help, but I’m not getting any more involved with the barn or the boarders—or their horses—than I have to.”

Well. That was clear enough. Although...

She turned to face his side, leaning her hip against the sink. His profile was something to see, all hard planes and sharp angles. Like a marble sculpture.

“The barn, the boarders and their horses,” she said. “Noted. What about the barn manager?”

There was a pause, but Ian was so still next to her that it was easy to see the tick of his jaw, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed before answering.

“What about the barn manager?” he finally asked.

She bit her bottom lip, and didn’t miss the way his gaze flicked in her direction.

Sure, he’d said back in the hay storage room that he wasn’t looking for anything, either. That being with her was a bad idea. Maybe it was. But she’d been thinking about it, and she’d decided like the adult person she was that it was a mistake she was happy to make. She didn’t want a relationship—was actively avoiding them, in fact—but Ian was the first person she’d met in some time who made her want anything. Feel anything. She missed feeling things, and she wanted to feel some more.

The plain fact of it was, she’d really, really enjoyed kissing him. And she was fairly certain he’d enjoyed it, too.

So, what was the harm?

“Well, inviting her into your house and stuffing her full of dinner and cake is hardly not getting involved.”

“It’s not my house.”

She suppressed an eye roll. “Ian.”

He gave a little huff of impatience.

She waited it out, and finally he turned to face her. She looked up at his pale blue eyes, anything but cold now. They burned into hers, roiling with emotion and what she hoped was desire. Yeah, she was willing to make this mistake, if that was what it was.

“You agreed that it could get complicated. That this would be a bad idea.” His voice was as tightly wound as a nervous horse.

She couldn’t help teasing him with a half smile. “This?” she asked, as if she didn’t know exactly what he meant.

That jaw tick again. She wanted to reach up and soothe it with her fingers, so she did, the skin rough with nearly invisible blond whiskers. The scratch of it sparked the tamped-down embers that had been lying in wait since that day in the hay storage.

He turned to glare down at her, lips pressed in a firm line. Then he shook his head.

“You know what I mean. This. ”

And he leaned down and kissed her, as if he was proving a point, as if it wasn’t exactly what she wanted.

She kissed him back, trying to convince him through her actions that, mistake or not, this would be worth it. That they both deserved a little pleasure for once.

She opened to him as he demanded, his mouth on hers almost punishing, but also everything she needed. There was no hesitation, no question of his desire, as he feasted on her lips, his tongue sweeping against her teeth in a way that made her knees weak, made her belly swoop like she was falling from a great height.

But he had her, holding her securely in his strong arms, a palm against the nape of her neck and his fingers gripping her hair. She could hardly draw air into her lungs—only him. His scent, his feel, the hard length of his tall, lean body blotting out everything else.

He pulled back slightly, his breath warm on her face in the chill of the old house. “You’re not what I expected to find here,” he said softly.

She blinked her eyes open. His were still closed, so she pinched his side to get his attention. He jumped a little and scowled down at her. But there wasn’t any anger in his expression.

“What did you expect to find?” she asked, and then held her breath. For some reason, she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer.

He shook his head slightly. “Not this. Not you.”

She didn’t know whether that was good or bad, but he lowered his mouth again and she decided it didn’t matter for now. His tongue caressed her bottom lip before he broke their contact again.

“I want to do this every time you bite that lip.” His voice was a rasp and her body thrilled to it. “It drives me up the wall.”

She didn’t have words to respond, not when his large hands slid downward to cup her ass, squeezing as he kissed her again, his erection jutting urgently into her stomach through his jeans. She instinctively ground up into him and he groaned, a desperate sound that went right to her already damp core.

“Fuck,” he grunted against her lips as her fingernails dug into his shoulders where she’d braced her hands for stability.

And then she was flying, or it felt like it, as he lifted her easily up onto the kitchen counter next to the sink. She gasped in surprise and he swallowed it, kissing her again. And again. At this height her head was level with his, his hips between her thighs. She wrapped herself around him, arms around his neck and legs around hips.

“I don’t want to wait.” He tore his mouth from hers, his fingers coming to the button of her jeans. “May I?”

She blinked stupidly at him, her brain unable to make sense of anything after he’d obliterated her logic with his kisses. But whatever he wanted to do was fine with her, so she nodded.

He kissed her once more, hard. And then he unzipped her jeans and tugged them down, off her legs along with her underwear and sneakers.

She inhaled sharply as he knelt in front of her, finally catching up to what he intended.

“Ian—” He glanced up, gaze scorching her to her center.

“Do you not want me to?” His voice was rough as gravel.

She had no idea why she’d even said his name. It certainly wasn’t a protest. If anything, it had been something awfully close to begging.

“I...I do. Very much,” she gasped out.

He was on her like a starving man, strong, calloused hands holding her knees apart. Her heart thundered in her chest, fingers grasping the edge of the counter to hold herself upright as he licked up her swollen folds and back down, tongue darting inside her just long enough for her to stifle a cry.

“I want to hear you,” Ian commanded from below.

And it was his lucky day, because when he slid one long finger inside her, tongue still teasing, she couldn’t hold back. Moaning and whimpering, arms shaking. Head thrown back as if she didn’t have the strength to hold it up.

Her skin was so feverishly hot, she was amazed she didn’t burst into flame right there. She should have been shocked at how quickly the pressure building low in her belly came close to the breaking point, but there was no room in her mind for anything but waves of sensation and need as Ian’s brilliant tongue coaxed her higher and closer to the summit.

He was voracious, but every time she neared the precipice, every time she came this close to tumbling over, he held back. He brought her to the edge over and over again, the whiskers on his cheek rubbing her inner thigh with just enough roughness to heighten her pleasure. Two fingers now, pumping slowly in and out of her while his tongue circled her clit, orgasm deliciously just out of reach.

“Ian,” she whined, and the vibration from his answering chuckle was what pushed her right over, coming harder than she could remember ever doing before. The sensation lasted so long she wondered wildly if it would ever stop, but eventually she floated back down to reality, her entire body tingling with aftershocks.

She was sure if she looked down she’d find her legs had actually turned to Jell-O. Which seemed fitting, she thought feverishly, given that she was on a kitchen counter. She swallowed and took a steadying breath. When she opened her eyes, Ian was standing upright again, looming over her in the best possible way, arms braced on the counter on either side of her legs. His lips were swollen, hair mussed and cheeks slashed with red.

He looked perfect.

“Hi,” she said nonsensically.

The corner of his mouth turned up, but it did nothing to soften his almost feral expression. His hands clenched the countertop, and he kissed her, hard and deep, before declaring in a thick, low voice, “Bed.”

Bronwen was light but substantial in his arms as he made his way determinedly up the stairs. For the first time, he felt real gratitude that his injuries hadn’t been worse. His hip twinged only slightly as he carried her to the bedroom, his back mostly keeping any complaints to itself.

He wouldn’t have missed this for the world—his arms were full of satisfied woman, and the way she looked at him as he laid her on the bed and crawled over her made him feel like he was whole again. Like maybe his worth wasn’t measured by his ability to ride horses for other people, no matter what everyone in his previous life apparently believed.

Bronwen reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, a smile illuminating her gorgeous face. “You look a little wild.”

That wasn’t him, not usually. He was a lot of things: competent, driven, focused. And now, broken. But not wild.

Here, though, he liked the sound of that. She made him wild. She made him feel things when he wasn’t sure he had the ability anymore. She made him want; she made him imagine something he hadn’t been able to before: the future.

The imagined future didn’t go very far, or past this room. But at this moment he was doing a lot of imagining. What he wanted to do to her, with her. What she’d look like when he stripped off the shirt she still wore. All of that imagining pumped blood through his veins, air through his lungs. All of that imagining made him feel alive .

And wild.

Wild enough to kiss her again, the way he wanted to: ravenously, endlessly, laying his body on hers until he could feel every curve and swell of her under him.

She wrapped her legs around his hips and arched up into him, the pressure against his aching dick almost too much. He groaned into her mouth, knowing he needed to slow down but not wanting to stop kissing her. Ever.

Her hands on his back, his spine, the warmth through his shirt and the soft scratch of fingernails on the fabric had him growling with desire. He wrenched his mouth away from hers and sat up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. She stared up at him with bright green eyes, all lust and humor and need, and he was undone.

“Off,” he commanded, tugging at the bottom of her shirt. Trying to ignore the way his body all but howled in protest at the pause in the proceedings.

She smirked at him, but wriggled her way out of the top, tossing it to the side and propping herself on one elbow to unsnap her bra as he watched.

He was so far gone he could hardly see straight, but he kept watching, trying to memorize the slide of the thin straps off her shoulders, the way she removed the bra slowly, teasing him. He growled again.

And then she was bare to him, full breasts and strong arms and wide hips all in front of him like a buffet. He trailed his fingers down her sternum to her belly, taut with muscle from heavy work but softened by padding he wanted to sink his teeth into.

“ Fuck. I don’t know where to start.”

She huffed out a laugh. “Seems like you already made a pretty good start downstairs.”

“Mmm.” He had. A very good start, but not enough. Not anywhere close to enough.

He braced his hands on either side of her head and leaned down to kiss her collarbone. She gasped, and he kept going, his mouth over her heart, between her breasts, along one side of her stomach. Down to where she was wet and ready for him. He inhaled deeply, her musky scent almost enough to push him right over the edge.

But he wanted to be inside her when he came. He needed that. Still...

He pressed a kiss right to her core and was rewarded with a groan.

“Ian.”

He teased her with his tongue, storing up her taste and feel for whenever the day came when she was done with him.

“Ian.” She tugged on his shoulder, and he stopped long enough to look up at her.

“What? I’m busy.”

“Take off your damn clothes already,” she demanded.

His forehead fell to her thigh. “If I take off my pants I’m going to be inside you in two seconds.”

He felt her silent laugh as her body shook. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He made himself stand, immediately mourning the loss of her touch. Warning bells went off in his mind, telling him that this was too much—too much to feel, too much to lose as he inevitably would. Too addictive for someone who was going to move on as soon as possible.

But there was no way he was stopping now. Not when Bronwen lay on the bed, naked and waiting. Wanting him .

He tore off his shirt like it didn’t have perfectly good buttons to make taking it off easier. His shoes, socks and jeans were next, underwear last. Everything in a heap on the cold wood floor. But he was burning, on fire with want. So, when Bronwen crooked a finger at him, knowing smile on her lips, he was over her in a second, pulling her with him as he rolled to the side.

Her hands were everywhere. Down the long muscles of his arms, across his chest, skimming the sensitive skin of his nipples as he gasped at her touch, down the planes of his stomach to where his dick jutted between them, hard and hot and aching almost painfully. She moaned and leaned in to kiss his throat while her hands stroked almost where he needed it most.

He nearly came right then, the muscles in his stomach contracting and a wave of dizziness and need stealing his breath.

“Jesus, Bronwen,” he whispered on what oxygen was left inside him. “I fucking want you.”

“I love your body” was her reverent answer, hands still exploring every inch of him.

He’d never thought of his body as anything more than functional. It worked; it rode horses; it did the things he needed it to do. At least, until his accident. Sure, it also brought pleasure, to himself and his partners, but this, too, had always been primarily functional.

The way Bronwen was looking at him, like he was...beautiful. Worthy of desire exactly as he was. It was almost too much.

“I think—” he began, but then her hand brushed his cock and words were impossible. He groaned again, almost a whine. Fuck, he wanted to be inside her. “I have condoms...somewhere,” he managed.

“Somewhere, huh?” Her words were a whisper into his ear, as if she was as breathless as he was. “Is this like some kind of kinky scavenger hunt?”

That surprised a laugh out of him. How could he be laughing when his body was ready to erupt?

She rolled away from him and sat up, and he fisted his hands to avoid hauling her back.

Slowly, he rose from the bed and headed for the closet. His skin was hot and feverish, prickling as if being away from Bronwen for even this long was causing some sort of allergic reaction.

“Just give me a minute.”

He ripped open one forlorn box sitting in the closet, tossing the contents onto the floor. Nothing. He unzipped the duffel bag next to the box with such force he almost broke the zipper. But— there .

Triumphant and trying to ignore the fact that he was still so hard walking was uncomfortable, he strode back to the bed, condoms in hand. Bronwen sat in the middle of the bed, wide-eyed and laughing.

“I thought you were fighting someone in there.” She grinned at him.

And then she shrieked as he grabbed her and kissed her, hard. She lay back, and he was between her thighs on his knees, her arms up over her head. He took a moment despite the clamoring of his body to get on with it already.

He simply...looked at her, kneeling between her legs, condom in hand. Long brown hair spread out like a cloud around her head. Eyes shining and liquid with desire. Cheeks and lips flushed, spectacular breasts rising and falling with every quick breath.

God, she was beautiful. Warm and real and strong, gorgeous and lying beneath him, open and wanting. Waiting.

He couldn’t wait anymore. He leaned down and took one perfect nipple into his mouth, suckling until she groaned and her hands clutched at his hair. The sweet pain of her grasp drove him close to the edge, and he slipped a hand between them to play with her clit, stroking until she squirmed under him.

“Ian—now. I need you now .”

He could no more have refused her demand than he could have leaped out the window and flown away.

With an agonized groan, he sat up just long enough to rip open the package and roll the condom on his swollen length.

He settled over her, sliding inside slowly, almost unbearably slowly. He didn’t want to hurt her, or do anything other than bring her as much pleasure as she could stand. His body shook with the effort of holding back.

“Ian—please. More. ”

He snapped. His control broke and he drew back and then slammed into her with a groan that matched hers.

She was hot and wet and absolutely perfect. He opened his eyes to meet hers, as dazed and hazy as he felt.

“More,” she said again, and how could he do anything but obey?

With an impatient sound, Bronwen wrapped her legs around his and clutched her fingers into the meat of his ass. They found a rhythm, desperate and a little shaky and so fucking good he couldn’t think of anything beyond the feel of her, the little cries and sounds she made with every thrust, the way he could feel how close she was.

He slipped his hand between them again, needing her to get there before he shattered. With a cry she came again, her body tensing and her channel squeezing him almost to the point of pain.

His orgasm ripped through him, an earthquake so powerful his vision went white for a moment as waves of pleasure tore him apart and left him in pieces right there on the bed.

When he eventually returned to his senses, he rolled to the side to dispose of the condom, then gathered Bronwen’s limp body to him, her back pressed to his front.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

“Better than okay,” she answered sleepily. “Perfect.”

Ian knew he wasn’t perfect. But maybe, just for tonight, he’d been able to be a little sliver of who he’d been. Or maybe, with Bronwen, he was something new entirely—still not perfect, but perfect with her.

Too bad there was no way he could stay, no way he could take the time to see if that theory was correct. Bronwen would never leave horses behind—that much was clear. And he’d never ask her to. But he needed to get as far away from that world as possible, if he was ever going to find a new place, a new life.

He told himself it was fine, that tonight was only an interlude. An evening out of time, where both he and Bronwen grasped at fleeting pleasure while it was at hand. They’d both be able to move on—it was only one night.

And if part of his brain knew he was lying, sleep took him away soon enough that he didn’t have to think about that anymore. The moonlight shone through the window, bright in the deep, dark night, and Ian slept better than he had in months.