The Grump Whisperer (Morningsong Farm #1)

Twelve

B ronwen paused with her hands at Ian’s belt, her breath stolen by the desire in his eyes.

Noble. She almost rolled her eyes again. If she’d known that was why he hadn’t requested another round of what they’d done at the house, she would have disabused him of that notion right away.

“No more being noble,” she said. “If you’re leaving, I want you as many times as I can have you before then.”

He swallowed visibly, then nodded, his pupils blown wide. “Deal.”

“May I?” She nodded her head at her hands. The bulge in his jeans made it pretty clear that he was interested, but she still wanted to make sure he was entirely on board.

He leaned back on his elbows, which only made his arousal more obvious. “Whatever you want.”

“Mmmm...” she all but purred. “Those are the magic words.”

She started on his belt buckle, taking her time. Her fingers might have brushed his erection a few times. By accident, of course. Ian’s chest rose and fell with a deep breath.

“And torture is what you want?” he said on a rough laugh as she finished with his belt and started on the zipper of his jeans.

She shrugged. “Either that or let’s tear our clothes off as quickly as possible so I can feel you inside me again.”

He grunted like he’d been punched in the stomach. “I vote for the second option.”

He grabbed her wrists and flipped her over onto her back before she could catch her breath, both of them laughing and breathless.

Ian rose and turned to her. “Well? Wait—let me. Stand up.”

She complied, and they stood facing each other in the dim light of her apartment. She could hear his breathing, imagined she could hear his heart beating. She could certainly hear her own heart pounding in her chest. He licked his lips, gaze intent on her. A zing of awareness sparked down her spine. That focus, that concentration, all on her.

She stepped closer, until she could feel his breath on her forehead. His hands came to frame her face, so gentle. But she could feel the tension in him. The want. It made her want in return.

His palm slid around to rest at the nape of her neck, as if to hold her there. Like she was going anywhere. They gazed into each other’s eyes for a long moment, the fingers of his other hand grazing her jaw. He leaned in, lips brushing hers, then trailing along her jaw to the sensitive skin of her neck. She shivered under his light kisses, her entire body wound tight like it was just waiting for release.

Ian pulled back and slid his hands down her sides to the hem of her long-sleeved shirt.

“May I?” He repeated her words back at her, his voice that gravelly pitch that sent a bolt of heat down to her core.

She nodded. He pulled the shirt up and over her head, letting it drop to the floor. He had her sports bra unfastened and off before she could draw another breath, and then his hands were on her, long fingers tracing the slopes of her breasts, the heat of his palms searing her where they touched her skin.

With a groan, she stepped away and slid off her pants and underwear. Then she grabbed his hand and tugged him back to the bed, Ian half laughing and half growling with desire.

He kissed her, his lips capturing hers, plundering, his body heavy and welcome on top of her.

“Ian,” she gasped. “Wait.”

He raised his head and gazed down at her, his eyes gratifyingly hazy with lust. “What is it?”

“Your clothes.” She glanced meaningfully down at his body. “Off. Now.”

With a pained groan, he peeled himself off her and stood, shucking his already unfastened jeans and tossing his shirt over his head. She took a moment to look, really look at him.

So tall in her little apartment. Lean and lanky, but solid muscle. A dusting of hair over his chest that matched the gold on his jaw. Dusky nipples she wanted to lick. Legs that looked as if they were forged from iron, that spoke of hours in the saddle. Little dips above his hips that begged for her to trace them with her fingers. His cock, fully erect and hard—for her.

Heat punched through her, need stealing her breath.

“Come here,” she whispered into the quiet.

And he was on her, over her, blocking out the light until all she could see, all she could feel, was him. Around her, over her, and hopefully soon, God willing, inside her. Her body clenched with want.

“Ian.”

He kissed her again, not the desperate, forceful kiss she’d expected, but lingering, soft strokes of his lips. His tongue. The bristle of his unshaven jaw scratched across her cheek, only highlighting the slow, tender brush of his mouth on hers. She arched up against him, wanting more, and he chuckled, his breath filling her lungs where she’d gone breathless.

He nipped at her bottom lip, and the sting reverberated down to her hot, wet core. She whimpered, and he groaned.

“Are you sure?” he asked, and she both wanted to smack him for questioning this and deeply appreciated his thoughtfulness. When was the last time someone had been so careful with her?

“I want you,” she replied with absolute certainty. “I want this. As much as I can have of you before...”

She didn’t finish the thought. There was no room for the future here, no place for what might come to ruin what was in this moment. She refused to speak it aloud. They both needed to find their way, alone, but right now, they were together.

He kissed her again, deeper, harder. There was the urgency she needed, the desperate press of his groin into her belly, his hand slipping behind her back to pull her closer. She thought she could feel the pulse of his cock in time with his heartbeat, in time with her own heart. He was hard, more than ready for her, and she knew she was ready for him.

“Ian, please.”

He lifted his head, looking down at her with dazed eyes as if he wasn’t sure where he ended and she began.

“Turn over.” His command was the last thing she expected, but she suspected she’d do anything he requested in that deep, whiskey-rough voice.

“You’ll have to move first,” she gasped as he pressed her into the bed again.

With a grunt, he rolled to the side and off the bed, his hand on her thigh as if he couldn’t bear to let go of her completely.

She rolled to her stomach, and his hand came to the small of her back.

“Jesus,” he rasped. “Your ass is amazing.”

She wasn’t particularly self-conscious of her body. She used it in her work all day, and it did the job. Functional. Strong. But she could feel his hot gaze on her, feel how much he wanted her. Her ass, which was maybe a little larger than she might have liked it to be in an ideal world, the object of his focus and desire.

She felt beautiful. Powerful in a way that had nothing to do with physical strength. A man like Ian Kingston wanted her, as much as she wanted him.

And she was going to have him.

Suddenly, strong hands came to her ankles, tugging her down the bed until her legs hung off the sides, toes touching the floor.

“Ian! What are you—”

She heard a soft thunk, and then felt the heel of his hand press between her legs, right where she throbbed for him. Her words broke off in a gasp. She turned her head and saw him behind her, on his knees. She squeezed her eyes shut and groaned, that image burned into her memory forever.

“What are you doing?”

She heard him shuffle around, and then her legs were being spread open by what she imagined were his elbows as his fingers gently stroked against her core. She moaned, a helpless, needy sound.

“I’m doing this,” he said, and then his tongue was on her.

She was fully exposed to him, butt in the air, the skin on her back tingling with sensation. The cold floor against her feet contrasted with the heat of his tongue right where she needed it most.

He was good at this—really top-notch skills, she had to admit—but what had her close to the edge faster than she’d ever gotten there was the way he licked and sucked her as if he could never get enough. As if he’d missed more than a few meals and she was the one thing he’d been craving. She could hear— feel —him groan against her as he teased her, her orgasm rushing toward her like a tidal wave she didn’t have a chance to escape.

Not that she wanted to escape, not when his hand on her ass pinned her to the bed, his other hand braced on her hip. If he wasn’t holding her down she thought she might float away, or simply explode into pieces right there in her apartment.

Another groan and his fingers bit into her butt as if he was himself only just holding on to his control. The pinch of pain from his hand and another stroke of his clever tongue caused her to fall apart, spinning into pleasure so strong it took everything and rearranged it, her whole world just exploding and then reknitting itself together, the same but entirely different.

“So good,” he grunted against her thigh, his breath hot on her already feverish skin. “Now roll over.”

The command in his voice made her squirm, somehow reigniting the fire he’d only just quenched. But she lifted herself onto her elbows and turned to meet his eyes.

“No. Like this.”

His eyes widened and then darkened, that possessive hand resting on her back again as if to claim her.

“Like this,” he said softly. It wasn’t a question. His fingers trailed down the sensitive skin of her spine, sending a shiver right down to her aching core. “Hmm.”

He stepped between her legs and leaned down to press a kiss against the nape of her neck, lifting her hair up and to the side. His fingers lightly scratched her scalp, and she whimpered.

He groaned behind her and she heard the crinkle of the condom wrapper, the sound of his sharp intake of breath as he pressed himself to her entrance. His weight leaned against her and she had to push her hands into the bed to steady herself.

“You ready?” he asked, bending down again close to her ear, his voice like sandpaper.

“Yes. Now. ” Her own voice was barely more than a gasp.

With a grunt of satisfaction, he slid inside, the thick length of him filling her so full she couldn’t take a breath for a moment, then two. Finally air rushed into her lungs and he began to move, his big hands gliding up her back, both soothing and enhancing sensation.

“You feel so fucking good.” She could hear the strain in his voice, the effort it was taking him to hold back.

She didn’t want him to hold back.

“More, Ian. Don’t stop.”

He pulled out, nearly to the tip of him, then slid back in, slowly, inch by inch until she was moaning with the need for more. And he gave it to her—harder this time. Hard enough that she gripped the bed quilt, fisting the fabric as he began a rhythm—not gentle this time, but demanding. Exactly what she needed.

Liquid heat like molten metal poured through her veins, every part of her body entirely attuned to the man behind her. She could feel herself coiling again, tension building as he continued to push into her, the heat of his body just above her back, his breath hot on her ear. He was whispering nonsense to her, his voice as needy as she felt.

“Ian, I need—”

She didn’t have to say more, as he pulled her against his chest with one strong arm, his knee braced on the bed, his other hand coming to her sensitive folds, stroking her in time with his thrusts.

“Come for me,” he said in that rough voice that she knew even now meant he was close. “Give it to me.”

Every cell in her body lit up at his words as if they’d been waiting for his demand, and she came. Endless waves of bliss crashed over her as she cried out, his fingers finding the exact right spot to send her even higher, spiraling out of control and then slowly floating back down to earth.

His rhythm broke and he slammed into her, his control finally gone, his body shaking over her as he came with a shout, shuddering for a long moment until he collapsed onto her with a groan.

Silence engulfed them, the occasional rustle of activity in the barn below the only sound.

Eventually, he eased away as if he was afraid he’d hurt her, and she heard his feet pad on the floor as he disposed of the condom in the bathroom.

She scooted up onto the bed and rolled to the side to make room for him.

Ian lay down beside her, chest still rising and falling as if he’d been running. His hair stuck up in untidy locks, his mouth red and swollen from kissing her—everywhere.

He was a far cry from the cold man she’d first encountered at the farmhouse, and she loved it. This man was warm and real and messy. Not to mention naked in her bed.

She moved closer to him, his arm coming around her, and reached up to touch his cheek with her hand. He gazed down at her with an unfathomable expression, and she wondered if he was having thoughts of being noble again.

She’d need to nip that in the bud.

“I don’t want you to avoid this—or me—because you need to move on,” she said. “I want you to know I understand.”

He was quiet for a while, and she wondered if he’d answer. Eventually, he said, “I just don’t want to hurt you.” A soft laugh rumbled through his chest. “Or myself.”

Bronwen chewed her lip. She already knew it would hurt when Ian left. She’d accepted that. She’d miss him no matter what, so she’d decided that they might as well make the most of their time together.

And then, of course, there were her own issues.

She sighed and rolled over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. “Let’s just say I don’t have a great romantic track record.”

Ian chuckled. “I wouldn’t say I do, either. Does anyone who isn’t happily partnered?”

She smiled. “Good point. But...I’ve had a couple of real clunkers in the past few years and I know I’m just not—I’m not in a place where I can do it again. My last boyfriend really messed with my head, and on top of my fall...”

Ian took her hand, his fingers stroking hers. “You’ve been licking your wounds.”

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “He was just... He promised a lot. Big things, small things. He’d promise to meet me at a show to cheer me on. Then he wouldn’t show up. There was always some excuse I couldn’t argue with. He stood me up more times than I can count. Told me I shouldn’t be so clingy when I pushed him on it. And I know he was busy—he’s one of the best riders in New England. A big fish in a smallish pond, I guess.” She laughed without humor. “But that was the pond I was swimming in. It felt good that he was even interested in me. He told me he’d take me to meet his family, but he never did. He’d promised to be faithful...”

She saw Ian’s head turn toward her out of the corner of her eye. “Let me guess. He wasn’t.”

She shook her head. “Nope. Word got around the barn. Just rumors, little ones at first. Then more obvious comments. You know how horse-show people can be sometimes.”

Cutting. Competitive. Happy to knock someone down to size, if it made them feel better about themselves.

Ian grunted. “I certainly do.”

“That’s one reason I love it here. It’s...safe. The people are honest. Supportive.”

Ian said nothing. But his hand tightened almost imperceptibly on hers, and she wondered how close to home her experience with the darker side of the horse world was for him.

“I went to a show with a friend, just to watch. I wasn’t riding that day. I just decided at the last minute to go along. I caught him behind the stables with someone else who kept her horse at my barn. He wasn’t even sorry—just said he’d never committed, which wasn’t true. But what could I do?”

“Dump his sorry ass, I’m hoping.”

“Yeah. I told him what I thought of him. And then went back to the barn and...”

Ian shifted toward her. “That’s when you fell, isn’t it? When you were hurt.”

She nodded. “The same day. After that... When Charlie’s leg was healed enough for him to move, I brought him here. I knew Ruth, the former owner, a little bit, and she offered me this job. She’d been doing almost everything herself up until then, but it was too much at her age. So we came here.”

“And you’ve been here ever since.”

Something in his tone had Bronwen rolling to her side. Their eyes locked, the now-familiar zing of awareness shimmering across her skin.

“Yeah. And?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

He shrugged, then took a long inhalation and exhalation, like he didn’t really want to answer her. But she was patient.

Finally he said, “You were hurt. Physically, emotionally, mentally. By your boyfriend and by the fall. But...”

A chill chased away the residual warmth inside her. “But what?”

He sighed. “I just think... Look, I know I’m the worst kind of hypocrite. I know that. But it’s easier to see someone else’s situation than your own, isn’t it?”

She sat up on the bed, staring down at him. “And?”

He sat up, as well, resting his hand on her thigh as if to keep her there. “You were licking your wounds in a place where you felt safe. That’s important—believe me, I know. But now...you can ride. You could work toward competing Charlie again. Slowly. You don’t have to push yourself beyond what feels safe, like what happened today. But you don’t have to...hide.”

She blinked down at him, anger and surprise squeezing her chest. “Hide? Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“No more than I am,” he said with a wry smile. Which took some of the sting out of his words.

But not all.

“And what about you?” she pushed him. “You’ve been hiding, and now you’re getting ready to run. From what? To what? You have all this talent, and you’re throwing it away because...”

He stiffened visibly. “Because of what? Because I lost everything, Bronwen. You could ride again. Go back to your old life. Find someone to love who isn’t a complete ass. Your boyfriend was a jerk—but not everyone’s like that. I know you know that. You don’t have to hide yourself away on this farm.”

It all sounded terrible to her. Scary, certainly, but...also just wrong. She didn’t want to go back to that competitive show barn. She hadn’t even missed it once she got to Morning Song. She didn’t particularly want to compete again. The stress and backstabbing wasn’t for her. As for love...the only person she could imagine being with was here with her.

And that was a problem.

“I’m not hiding,” she said. And they both knew it was a lie. She let out a breath. “Okay, maybe I’m hiding a little bit.”

“Well. You’re not alone in that.” He pulled her closer, and she tucked her chin into the crook of his neck. “You don’t have to do everything all at once. Maybe just try sitting on your horse for a bit. See how that feels.”

“Will you help me?” she said before she could think better of it.

“Of course. I promise.”

She let herself believe him, because she had no reason to do otherwise. Her trust might have been shattered in the past, but Ian had always followed through, on small things and large.

It was a fool’s errand, but she carefully placed her fragile, healing trust in his hands, at least for this. Only for this, for now.

Early that morning, before the horses clamored for breakfast, before the sun edged over the tops of the tree branches surrounding the farm, Bronwen quietly descended the stairs from her apartment and made her way to Charlie’s stall.

As always, the barn was a soft landing first thing in the morning, serene and quiet and magical in expectation of everything another day full of horses might hold. The early light tried its best to barge in under the sliding door and through the stall windows, but in the aisle and in Charlie’s stall everything was still dim and gentle, from the sleepy rattle of horses nosing their feed buckets in hopes of breakfast to the scent of wood chips and grain and earth.

Ian lay in her bed upstairs, snug and warm under the blankets, and she’d been tempted to lie there with him, listening to the quiet hush of his breathing. She was an early riser by necessity, but this particular morning she’d woken with a start well before her alarm went off.

She’d drifted off into a dreamless sleep in Ian’s arms that night, and later they’d woken each other up with sleepy kisses and strokes that led to more. Now she was tired and smugly satisfied and desperately in need of coffee, but there was something she needed to do before she started her day.

“Hey, bud,” she said quietly as she unlatched the stall door and slipped inside.

Charlie’s roomy box stall smelled like sweet feed, hay and wood shavings, underlaid with the earthy smell of horse. He turned quickly when he heard her voice, whickering a greeting.

“Shh,” she said. “Don’t tell your roommates I’m here, or everyone’s going to want their food right now.”

The other horses no doubt had already heard her with their animal-sharp hearing, but so far no one was kicking the wall or whinnying to be fed.

She took the time before the equine demands began to do what she’d come for. As Charlie stuck his velvet nose against her chest, sighing heavily, she reached up and stroked his ears the way she used to do before shows, when they were both a little wound up anticipating the challenge to come. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d just...stood with her horse, listening to the sounds of his breathing, letting him inhale her scent and nudge her with his soft nose.

Tears came unexpectedly, apologetic and regretful.

“I’m sorry, Charlie,” she whispered into his forelock. “I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you.”

That wasn’t really it, though. She’d made sure he was cared for, found him a rider, groomed him and paid as much attention to him as she had to the other boarders.

But it wasn’t enough. Because he was her horse—the one she’d found, trained, ridden in her best moments as a competitor. He was her friend, her confidant, the one constant aside from Olivia between the before and after of her life. He deserved more than maintenance care.

Maybe she’d compete him again; maybe she wouldn’t. But even if she never rode him again, he deserved so much more than she’d given him. She’d put a wall between her feelings about the past and anything that reminded her of what she’d lost, and that included Charlie.

Something cracked inside her as it thawed, years’ worth of emotions spilling out in tears. She buried her face in Charlie’s mane and let it out: unresolved sadness over what had happened, the injuries—external and internal—they’d both suffered. The abruptness with which her life had changed, everything old falling away and her life at Morning Song becoming the entire circumference of her existence. The pain of now leaving behind the safety of repressing her emotions and telling herself that shoveling stalls and managing boarders was all she needed to be happy. Fear of what the future might bring.

But with the unknown was also the known: the family she’d found here. Charlie. Olivia. Those were constants, real sources of comfort she could depend on.

“Thank you for waiting,” she told Charlie, stroking a hand down his neck, soft hair and familiar contours.

Charlie snorted and stamped one hoof, probably realizing that she’d been in his stall for some time and no breakfast had appeared.

Then he turned his head and nosed her arm, and she lifted her head to look at his brown, liquid eyes regarding her patiently. He nosed her again, and she stroked one silky ear with her hand. His eyes slowly closed, head nodding.

It wasn’t breakfast he wanted. Just her—his person. She leaned against his solid shoulder, one hand on his back and one on his ear, watching him doze.

Whatever came next, she had this. She understood why Rachel was so desperately set against selling Applejack. She’d never let go of Charlie for anything—whether she rode him or not. She’d been taking him for granted, setting him aside so she wouldn’t have to think about the past, the future or anything other than her routine at the farm. Each day circled with an unshakable boundary, letting her off the hook for processing what had happened, or thinking about what the future might hold.

She needed to do better than that, as Ian had said. She deserved better than that. She’d needed safety after her fall, but safety wasn’t going to bring her happiness. She needed to stretch herself again, figure out what she really wanted. She needed to enjoy the privilege of owning this marvelous horse, even if past memories occasionally reared their unwelcome head.

She needed to live in these moments—with Charlie, with Ian—because no future was guaranteed. She’d been existing, not living. And it had to change.