Seduction on the Sand (The Billionaires of Barefoot Bay #2)(22)
Author: Roxanne St. Claire

Dominic whipped from side to side, butting hard again, but this time Elliott held his balance and managed to get his arms around the goat’s neck.

All the does were out of the shelter now, screaming and scuffing their hooves, the acrid smell of the buck as exciting as the fight. Frankie held two of them back, walking closer to the fence, mesmerized as Elliott tried to lead Dominic back to his pen.

Dominic bucked again, snapping with open teeth at Elliott’s arm.

“Shit, he bites!”

No kidding. Frankie nodded, half-laughing, half-holding back a moan. Dom bit, kicked, and head-butted when he was content, for crying out loud, and right now he was one pissed-off buck.

“Come on, boy, come on.” Elliott braved another bite, swearing furiously as he worked to keep his balance and move the buck away. “You gotta go back home.”

As if he understood, Dominic jerked out of Elliott’s grip again and started to run in the direction of the road.

“Sonofabitch!” Elliott took off after him, a few feet behind, both running full force with dirt and stones flying.

Elliott grabbed hold of him, practically wrestling the goat to a stop, getting yet another buck and bite in the process. But Elliott held on tight, his legs wide, his powerful arms finally, finally subduing the goat.

“We’re going home,” Elliott said through gritted teeth, clearly in control now. “Move it!”

Like a chastised puppy, Dominic gave up the fight and plodded back around the trailer to his pen, each step more humble than the one before. Elliott, on the other hand, looked downright victorious.

And sexy as sin.

Frankie didn’t even hesitate, leaving the does in their pen and rushing to join Elliott at Dominic’s enclosure. Battling for breath, his face red, two bites swelling on his arms, Elliott led Dominic into his pen, standing over him just to let the poor buck know exactly who was in charge. Frankie stayed on the outside to right the latch, watching with a pounding heart and soaring affection.

Finally, Elliott patted the buck and led him to the water bowl. “That’s enough of that shit, Dom.” Wiping his face with a dirty arm, he ambled out of the pen and double-checked the lock.

“Elliott.” Frankie was almost as breathless as he was. “That was—”

She threw her arms around him and kissed him so hard she knocked him right back on his ass.

* * *

High on the fight, humming with a surge of adrenaline, and inhaling a heady mix of pretty perfumes and disgusting goat, Elliott took Frankie’s kiss and gave it right back to her. He rolled her over on the grass, getting right on top of her to savor his win and this woman. She clutched his head, then his shoulders, almost as if she wanted to stop what she’d started, then wrapped her arms around his whole body and gave in.

Pressing her into the grass, he kissed her mouth, their tongues instantly tangling, their bodies rocking against each other like they’d been waiting all day to do that.

He had, that was certain, and it sure felt like she had, too.

Elliott gave in to the urge to explore whatever inch of her body his hand could find. Face, neck, shoulders, then he slide lower to her breast, making her hiss in a breath when he brushed over her nipple.

“Looks like more than one gate broke around here, Frankie,” he teased between kisses.

“I just wanted to…thank you.” She was fighting for control, he could tell. And every time he touched or kissed her, she lost a little more of the fight.

They rolled again, and this time he pulled her on top, loving the pressure of her body on his, already responding with blood rushing to harden him. Her eyes widened as she felt that between her legs.

“You know,” he whispered with a sly smile. “We can’t let poor Dominic see this. He’ll go nuts.” Laughing, he pushed her up and brought them both to a stand, kissing her again and walking her away from the pens, around the trailer, to the shade of a massive oak tree.

Still joined at the mouth and hip and hands, he leaned her against the tree trunk and pushed his entire body against hers as they kissed. His fingers found the apron tie in the back, snapping the string so he could get one less layer of material between his body and hers.

But it was stuck around her neck. “Take this off,” he ordered.

“Becker…”

“Not everything, just the apron. I have a no-apron make-out policy.”

She put both hands on his shoulders and inched him back. “You have two buck bites on your arms, your face is bleeding, and my guess is this”—she gave a gentle squeeze to his ribs, making him grunt in pain—“hurts like a mother.”

Still cringing, he nodded. “But, so does”—he rocked his lower half into her, biting his lip to hold back a groan of pain and pleasure—“this.”

She searched his face, desire crashing with common sense in her golden-brown eyes. “I should take care of your other injuries…first.”

“First.” His smile tipped up. “That’s encouraging.”

“Becker, come on. I barely know you.”

He slid his hand up her arm, lingering over her shoulder, tempted to take it south and torture her by touching her breasts again, but he dragged his palm in the opposite direction to cup her jaw. “What better way to get to know me?”

“Oh, I can think of several. Talking. Exchanging information. Watching you to see what kind of man you are.”

“I’m a buck-saving, goat-toe-clipping, soap-naming, hay-baling assistant goatherd.”

She laughed. “Well, when you put it that way, what more could I want?”

“Exactly.” He smothered her neck with kisses again, licking her lightly until he got to her mouth, where he gave it full force. She stiffened and melted and moaned, meeting each sweet press of his lips with one of her own.

“Becker…” She gave his bruised ribs another squeeze. Hard.

“Yeow!”

“Let’s get you cleaned up and in a shower.” She reached up and kissed his cheek, stinging the spot where he knew a goose egg was growing under his eye. “A cold one.”

She should have said freezing, because fifteen minutes later, he was stuffed into a Hobbit-sized shower under biting cold spray. But after having Frankie’s tender hands all over him with antiseptics and wet cloths, he needed a cold dousing. 

Facing the stream of water, he closed his eyes and ignored the sting on his cheek where he’d come in direct contact with a goat horn.

He breathed carefully, since every deep inhale hurt his ribs. But the pain wasn’t what shot fire through him. It was the memory of Frankie under him, the hunger in her kiss, the smell and taste and rawness of their connection, which was so real.