Jermy, Marie - Animal Instincts [The Andersons 2] (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 5

  “Of course.”

  “Smug, Rex, real smug.”

  “No, just honest.” Rex laid the clipboard and the shuttlecock on top of the cage. “The real test will be when he wants to feed. I’ve looked for snake food, but not surprisingly we don’t have any in stock. I’ve phoned Mr. Donovan, and he’s going to bring some in first thing tomorrow morning. I think he said a couple of rodents… Hey, what happened?” he asked, pointing to then capturing her right hand.

  “Oh, my last patient didn’t take too kindly to me shoving tablets down her throat.” His fingers trailed over her scratched skin, sending tingles of pleasure zipping to every nerve ending in her body, from her scalp to her toes. “It looks worse than it is. It’s nothing a little antiseptic cream won’t heal. Really,” she added at his doubtful expression.

  “Well, if you say so.” He dropped her hand. “I’ll just grab a shower, and then I’ll cook dinner. Return the compliment.”

  It wasn’t until after Rex had gone that Ramona realized she’d been holding her breath. She slowly let it out. Jumping a partner’s bones had never been so tempting. But not smart, she reminded herself as she went through to the office and powered the laptop into life.

  She had just finishing typing an e-mail to Stephens—well, why not, fair’s fair—detailing her approval and reasons why he should sell his share of the practice to Rex, when she sensed somebody watching her. The spicy scent she inhaled evoked a graphic image of Rex naked in the shower, warm water sluicing every virile inch of his powerful body. She shoved it aside and waited for that drawling Southern accent of his to fill her ears.

  “What are you doing?”

  Ramona swiveled around in her seat. Her “screw up in the bedroom department and the business side is bound to follow” philosophy took an instant nosedive. With damp hair and wearing snug-fitting faded jeans and a white T-shirt that accentuated the solid wall of his chest and bulging biceps, Rex was mighty tempting. Thankfully, so was the bottle of white wine and the two glasses he held. “Come and see for yourself.”

  He ambled over, poured her a glass, and read the screen over her shoulder. “What’s the catch?” he asked, meeting her eyes when he’d finished reading. His eyes flicked back to the screen. “Ah, you haven’t sent it.”

  She immediately swiveled around and clicked the “send” button. When she faced him again, her philosophy soared to its usual lofty altitude as his sensual mouth had hitched into the familiar smug smile. She sipped on her wine, watching him over the rim as he filled his own glass. “You know,” she said after a minute’s silence, “you never did tell me how Greg hired you.”

  Rex placed the bottle on the desk and perched on the corner, crossing his feet at the ankles. Again, as he’d been earlier that morning, he was barefoot. He appeared relaxed, but the tightening of his fingers around the stem of the glass as he downed half of its contents in one swallow said different. Pained shadows also lurked within his eyes. It was another minute before he spoke, giving Ramona the impression he was deliberating about exactly what he should and shouldn’t tell her.

  And she was right.

  * * * *

  Frankly, Rex thought it no concern of Ramona’s to know he’d been at the hospital awaiting test results on his “damaged” genes. He’d been relieved the results had been clear, but anger had set in when he remembered the poisonous remarks Stacey had hurled at him during one of their arguments, which led him to having the tests carried out in the first place.

  He’d been so angry that upon leaving the hospital’s parking lot, he’d mounted the curb and buried the front end of his 1983 Ford Mustang convertible into a fire hydrant. Soaking wet from the fountain of water raining down, his ego bruised more so than his body and cursing at the top of his voice for wrecking his beloved car, Stephens had been the only person brave enough to approach him and ask if he was okay.

  Stephens had stayed with Rex, and after being questioned by police, who surprisingly only issued him with a severe warning and the repair bill, they’d gone to a nearby coffee shop for one long and one very friendly and productive chat. The rest was history.

  “I crashed my car. Greg was the first on the scene. We got talking. And here I am.”

  “And here you are,” Ramona repeated. It was obvious she wasn’t happy with his brief explanation, but at least she didn’t press him further. She switched the laptop off and relaxed back in the chair, savoring the wine.

  “What’s Greg’s problem with women?” Rex asked in order to break the silence stretching between them.

  “He’s of the opinion that a woman’s place is in the home.” Ramona directed a disarming smile his way. “Mimi has a few things to say on that subject, and she’s not afraid to voice them. Many years ago, before she married, she and Greg were a couple, but he refused to commit when she told him she wanted to work.

  “I didn’t know this when I employed her, and when Greg saw her sitting on reception, I thought he was going to rival my mom’s volcanic temper.” She shrugged, and there was a certain sympathy to her tone. “I don’t think Greg’s forgiven himself for letting Mimi go. He obviously loved her. Sometimes I think he still does.”

  “And what about you? Did Greg forgive you for employing Mimi?”

  “Oh, yeah. I can be very persuasive.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Rex murmured, finishing his wine and picking up the bottle. “Dinner should be ready now. Hungry?”

  “Starving. What are we having?”

  “Salad.”

  “Salad? I thought you said you were going to cook?”

  “Did I?”

  He laughed at her dramatic eye roll. Ramona followed Rex through to the house. He could feel her eyes on his ass all the way. Once in the kitchen, he pulled a chair out for her and then served up two large plates of salad and fries.

  “I admit I’m useless in the kitchen,” he said, “but are you questioning my ability in opening a bag of frozen fries and putting them in the oven for twenty minutes?” Rex laughed and ducked when Ramona threw her napkin at him.

  The good-humored banter continued between them as they ate, but then Ramona broached the subject of the house.

  “About the house, Rex, I’ve been thinking…”

  “Yeah, me, too. We obviously have a problem with the bathroom, what with there only being the one, but I’ve an idea that may—”

  “Are you going to sell?” she interrupted.

  “No.”

  “Move out?”

  “Ramona, I am neither selling nor moving out.”

  “Neither am I,” she was quick to add.

  “As I was going to say, I think the problem can be sorted by turning the smallest bedroom into a second bathroom. One for me. One for you. We don’t have to share then. And you can make as much mess as you like. Well, think about it,” he said, throwing her earlier words back at her when her luscious mouth opened and closed but no reply was forthcoming.

  Ramona’s smile seemed forced as she gestured to the kettle. He knew she was not in a good mood, but that was tough. He was not budging on the subject of the house.

  “Coffee?” she asked.

  “Sure. You go through.” A couple of minutes later, Rex joined Ramona in the living room. The second he saw her curled up on the sofa, he wanted to join her and put his arms around her and kiss her. Wanted to press her down into the cushions and make love to her hard and fast, gentle or slow. He didn’t have a preference.

  He handed her a mug and pointedly sat in the armchair. Well, isn’t this cozy, he thought, heavy on the sarcasm, blocking out the image of naked flesh, tangled limbs, and heavy breathing that had immediately caused a distinct lack of space in the crotch of his jeans. All that was missing was Ramona asking him for his life story.

  And to Rex’s amusement, that was exactly what Ramona did.

  “Where are you from? Originally, I mean.”

  “Lakeview. New Orleans.”

  “What are your parents like? Are they still alive?”


  Rex gave a wry grin. This part of his life he was comfortable talking about. “I don’t remember my mother at all. She died when I was only a few months old. My father… Well, let’s just say he ran the house with an iron rod and an even harder backhand.”

  “He hit you?” Ramona gasped.

  “Whenever he was drunk. Which was often.” He gave a slight shrug. “He missed my mother, and I know he loved her. He spoke of her every day. I think he turned to drink to block out the pain of losing her.”

  “That’s no excuse for hitting you.”

  “No, no excuse,” Rex agreed. He gave another shrug and continued. “Anyway, then I learned to fight back. Well, when I say ‘fight,’ I mean that metaphorically. I never punched my father. Never kicked him. Never used a weapon. I was fourteen, and just because I’d been abused, I knew right from wrong. I refused to turn into an abuser like him. I’m stronger than that.”

  A brief nod of her head was accompanied with an even briefer glance up and down his body. Was the “sex kitten” checking him out? His cock sprang into life.

  “What happened?” she croaked. She hurriedly took a sip of coffee. “I mean, what did you do to make him stop?”

  “Like I said, I was fourteen. I’d been out with a couple of my school friends and I was late getting home. Two minutes late. He’d been drinking and was as drunk as a skunk. When he came for me, his hand raised ready to strike, I stood tall, blocked his shot, and held him off. Told him never to hit me again. And he didn’t. Standing up to him, becoming a man, I’d finally earned myself a small measure of respect.”

  His mouth thinned into a grim line. “Even so, in his eyes, I could never do anything right. Including my chosen profession. He wanted me to go into medicine, be a neurosurgeon, or something. When I said I wanted to become a vet, he was so disgusted and disappointed that we didn’t speak for at least a year.”

  “But you did become a doctor. An animal doctor.”

  “He never saw it like that.” Rex shook his head, even now bemused by his father’s derisive attitude toward his career choice. “He died two years ago. Pancreatic cancer. You know when they say people with cancer who die do so after a courageous fight? Not my father. When he was diagnosed, it was almost like he died then. He gave up the fight before it even started. Which in essence was a relief. It meant I no longer had to prove myself to him. Prove to him that the son he had and the son he wanted were one and the same. A son he could be proud of.”

  “I’m sure there were people who were proud of you, Rex. A girlfriend maybe?”

  Rex felt that the conversation was about to slide into dangerous territory. His father’s derision to his chosen career may have faded, but Stacey’s—to his manhood—was still a fiery dagger straight to his heart. He turned the subject back on to Ramona. “What about you? Are you close to your parents?”

  “Very. Dad never once raised even his little finger to either myself, my sister, Sammy, or my brothers, Ross and Matt. He didn’t have to. Whenever we were naughty, he’d make this low growling sound in the back of his throat that stopped us dead in our tracks. And if we ever broke curfew, he’d just use his police interrogation skills and grill us at length.”

  “Your father was a police officer?”

  “Yeah. Mom, too. And Ross. Matt, I told you earlier, is also a cop. Sammy’s a kindergarten teacher in Butte.”

  “So if law enforcement runs in your family, how come you ended up as a vet and your sister a kindergarten teacher?”

  She shrugged. “It just never appealed to us. I love animals. Sammy loves children.” She drank some coffee and continued. “I can’t imagine any parent not being proud of their children. When we were growing up, we could talk to Mom and Dad about anything, without feeling embarrassed or ashamed. And whatever decisions we made, good or bad, they were always there, supporting us, loving us.”

  “Then I envy you.”

  “Envy me?” Ramona choked on a giggle. “You won’t be saying that if you get to experience Mom’s temper. As I’ve said, it’s volcanic, and when she blows, she blows.”

  “And do you blow?” The moment that question left his mouth, Rex wished he could take it back. Ramona’s sweet and infectious giggle had only stiffened his cock further. Remembering that her bra was red, he knew it would only take one minuscule thought of her luscious mouth wrapped around him and he would “blow.”

  “I have been known.”

  Again, her giggle was sweet and infectious. As stimulating as it was, Rex thought it time to steer the conversation back on to safer ground before he made a spectacular mess in his jeans. “Sammy? Is that short for Samantha?”

  “What is this? Twenty questions?”

  “You started it,” he reminded her.

  “So I did. Yeah, it’s short for Samantha. We’re identical twins. Well, I say that, but since I’ve had my hair cut, it’s gonna be real easy to tell us apart. In looks, we take after Mom, whereas Ross and Matt are like Dad. Ross in more ways than one, they share the same name. He dropped ‘Junior’ some years ago. That’s when the fun began.” She took another swallow of coffee. “Ross lives in New York, so apart from him, you’ll meet the rest of my family tomorrow at the town’s centenary celebrations. You will be going, won’t you?”

  He nodded. “Try and stop me. Might be a good business opportunity. You know, meet our regular clients, obtain new ones.”

  Ramona snorted. “What, with the alcohol flowing? You’d be lucky. Though, I s’pose I could show you off as the new kid on the block.”

  “‘The new kid on the block?’” Rex repeated. “Kid? Me?” Decidedly pissed and totally forgetting about his cock, extremely stiff and threatening to “blow,” he stood and swept his hands down his body. “Ramona, do I look like a kid?”

  “No. You look like a man.”

  Ramona’s comment only made Rex want her more. But while his cock shouted “Come over here and blow me,” his head wisely told him to sit down and continue with their conversation. He could do that, couldn’t he? Of course he could. His control was like his cock—stiff.

  * * * *

  At least her face didn’t flame, but Ramona still slapped a hand over her mouth at her words. She sounded so… so… desperate. For him. That was new. She’d never been desperate for a man in her entire life. She would have entertained the idea if Rex’s mouth wasn’t hitching into that smug smile as he sat down again, nonchalantly drinking his coffee as if he wasn’t the least bit aware of the family-sized wigwam in his jeans.

  She liked giving oral. It was a specialty of hers… Crap! She attempted to push it aside, but on her knees in front of him, blowing him, swallowing his hot cum, was an image that refused to budge.

  She glanced at her watch. 8:05. Too early for bed. But then again, if she stayed, she might be tempted to wipe that smug smile from Rex’s face by kissing him, which would definitely lead to blowing him and jumping his bones. And on both acts that was so not smart.

  And if Ramona kept reminding herself of that, it might put a halt to wishing Rex’s fingers were on her breasts, in her pussy, and not curled around his mug as though his life depended on it.

  She finished her own coffee and made a play of yawning loudly as she got to her feet. “Time for bed.”

  “But it’s only just gone eight.”

  Did he have to point that out? “I need my beauty sleep. Besides, tomorrow’s gonna be a long day.” But not as long as tonight’s gonna be, she grimly suspected as she made her way upstairs.

  Once changed into her pajamas and in bed, Ramona pulled the sheet up to her chin. She closed her eyes, but images of Rex, tantalizing fingers and a huge rock-hard cock planted first in her mouth and then inside her pussy, driving her crazy with equally hard thrusts, plagued her mind, stalling sleep for many hours.

  It definitely was a long night.

  Chapter 5

  “Is that Rex Latimer? He looks nice. And so tall.”

  Ramona listened to Samantha’s first appraisal of R
ex, before glancing in his direction. Leaning casually against the wooden railing outside Rustlers Bar, dressed in the same snug-fitting faded jeans from the night before, but this time teamed with a casual navy blue V-neck sweater, his attention not fixed on anything in particular, the words “nice” and “tall” wasn’t quite how she would describe him.

  Tempting.

  Blowable.

  Jumpable.

  Smug. Emphasis on the…

  “And dare I say it, a very kissable mouth.”

  …Kissable mouth. Argh! Emphasis on the “smug.” “Haven’t noticed.” Ramona ignored her sister’s knowing smile. “Where is Mark with those drinks? I’m dying of thirst here.”

  Darkness had descended, yet with strings of multicolored lanterns hanging from every building, Main Street was lit up like the Las Vegas Strip. Music was provided by a live band, and with the constant laughter and chatter of the large volume of people milling around, it created a real party atmosphere.

  A party she had been enjoying until Mark Raven decided to spend an eternity in Rustlers. And now she’d spotted Cindy “Legs” Lopez making a beeline for Rex. Ramona didn’t have a jealous bone in her body, but as Cindy draped herself around Rex, who smiled politely and moved away, she really wanted to go over and knock the woman’s teeth down her throat.

  “Who’s upset you?”

  “Nice. Tall. Kissable mouth.” Avoiding eye contact with Samantha, Ramona made a point of watching their parents dancing on the makeshift floor erected between the Silver Creek B&B and the police station directly opposite and where they were standing. Nearby, and technically on duty, Matt was making eyes at Emily Coy while flirting with every woman who smiled his way.

  “Why, what’s Rex done?” Samantha asked, snagging Ramona’s attention again.