Breathe for Me (The Langston Brothers Duet #1)

by Brittany Ann

He was staring at me, studying me closely. He was wet. I didn’t like that he was wet. “No,” I croaked out. I felt weird. I was still cold. “No, what?” he snapped. I lifted my hand—or tried to. Why did I want to touch that beard? He needed to be warm. “You’re wet,” I rasped. He stared.

“Don’t want you wet and cold…” I trailed off as another shiver rolled through me. Then, we were moving. “Flying again,” I said, closing my eyes. “Come on, City Girl. Stay with me. Let me see those pretty eyes,” a deep, velvet voice rumbled.

Like— I sat up, gasping and throwing the pillow off the bed. This wasn’t the hotel. Blinking quickly, I took a second to look around me. I was in a room—a man’s room. I was in a man’s bed.

I swung my legs over the bed and stood. I wasn’t wearing pants. Looking down, I found a Marines shirt on my body, draping down over my butt and stopping just below my cheeks.

Memories from this morning came rushing back, not slowing, not allowing me to brace for impact. I was standing in the rain, surrounded by his smoke. Then, I was in his truck, not wanting him to be cold. My brow furrowed as I stared at my bare legs, my hands braced on the bed beside my thighs. Then… Warmth. Strength. Pine, mint, and smoke. Grumbles, like thunder against my skin. Sheltered. Held. I was held. My hand drifted to the shirt on my body. My clothes were gone. Had I been hypothermic? My heart was racing now, hurtling towards a finish line that I feared would never come. Did Denver Langston…hold me?

The thought alone was pure madness. A man like that, holding a woman like me? A woman he hated. A woman he insulted. A woman who was trying to take everything from him. He held me. He warmed me. He saved me. “Don’t think about it, Val,” I whispered to myself as I looked down at the shirt once more. At least his shirt fit me. Being tall and plus sized, it was rare to find a man larger than me. My stomach was hidden under the cotton fabric, loose and drowning me. Denver Langston was indeed a large man. A bear of a man.

Maybe that woman from the other day was his wife. That was a child’s room. I walked around the stairs and peaked inside. No signs of life. The room was tidy, and I could tell it belonged to a boy. A little boy. He was definitely under the age of twelve. His twin bed was pushed up against the wall, the window across from it. I took a closer look at the toys in the bins—bulls and cowboys. I smiled at the thought of Mr. Langston’s little boy following in his footsteps. The little cowboy…

My breath caught as I came to a huge kitchen. A—stunning—kitchen. The kitchen every person dreams of. It was a kitchen that needed to be filled with happy memories and delicious smells. It was L-shaped, with a huge island in the middle. The cabinets were a sage green, the countertops butcher block. There was a gas range stove, double ovens and a massive fridge. The countertops were empty, save for a few stray coffee mugs, and beer bottles.

If the little boy had been standing alone in the photo, I would have assumed it was a childhood photo of Mr. Langston, who was standing beside the boy, looking down at him. His side profile was showing under the brim of his black cowboy hat, a small smile playing on his lips. He was absolutely beautiful.

My eyes dared to move up, over the backs of thick, jean covered legs, to a dark coat that held broad shoulders underneath. Sitting on top of those shoulders was a head of dark hair. That head turned to me. That head had a handsome, bearded face. That head had a black cowboy hat on top of it. That head also had gray eyes. Those eyes— they were on me. Smoke filled my lungs, holding me captive. Gray smoke. My smoke. I whimpered, bringing my palm to my mouth. My cowboy.

Oh no.

There was nothing around this ranch for miles—town was ten miles down the road. It was dark. She had nowhere to go. Only a person with a death wish would try to survive a night like this on foot after a storm. My city girl knew better. She was smart.

My boots crunched over the gravel as I stared ahead. Why had she run down here? Why—for a split second—had there been worry in her eyes? Worry for me?

Hallow Ranch was his home, his safe haven. He was right. This would likely chase her away, leaving my ranch behind untouched by greed. My chest ached at the thought of never seeing her again.

“She’s beautiful.” “And?” I clipped. “When’s the last time a beautiful woman was in that house?” “When my mother was breathing,”

City Girl had been out all day—in my bed. After getting her into the truck this morning, soaked and freezing—borderline hypothermic, I raced back to Hallow Ranch. She was out of it, drifting in and out of consciousness. When I pulled up to the house, Beau and Lawson were on the porch. It was still pouring rain, but they came and got her out of the car. We rushed her upstairs into my bathroom.

Fuck, I really fucking wanted to. Images of her body pressed against mine came rushing back, her hands gripping my arms in her sleep, as she mumbled something that I couldn’t make out. She felt so damn good against me, in my arms— Shut that shit down, Den.

She was crying now, a normal reaction from a person who had never witnessed a murder before. She was still in my Marines shirt, and I noticed she slipped on a pair of my boxers. Fuck, even in distress, she was a work of art.

“Phone tower is down, City Girl,” I said. Her head snapped up as she let out a gasp, and those green eyes scanned the darkness for me. She raised a shaking hand. “Stay away from me.” Damn. Her sweet voice was more unsteady than her hands. I didn’t like that. Why did I give a fuck?

“You going to sit out here all night?”

“Or are you going to ge...

“Do what you want, but you go hypothermic again, I ain’t saving you.”

“But the phone towers are down and the creek that runs under the Little Pine Bridge on the way into town is flooded. Not to mention, your fucking rental is still in that ditch.” “So,”

“I’m just trapped here?”

“You wanna leave, get lost, and die in these mountains? Be...

“But you ain’t doing that in my clothes.” “I would like to have my clothes ...

“Your clothes are in the dryer. Your phone is most likely in that rental. You didn’t have it on you while you were standing in the fucking st...

She moved one of her legs and winced. “Ah.” At her whimper, I looked down to her feet. Her. Bare. Feet. She’d been running on gravel. Fuck.

“You ran down there without any fucking shoes?”

“I would like to leave, please.” ...

“No,” she snapped, looking back up at me. She stood, mostly likely ignoring the pain in her feet, and glared at me with those devasting green eyes. “I would like to leave. Now.”

Then I moved, ducking and throwing her over my shoulder. She yelped in surprise as I wrapped my arm around the backs of her thighs, ignoring the way her skin on mine felt like fire. She was pounding her fists into my back and kicking her legs. I paid her no mind as I opened the front door and marched up the stairs with her still over my shoulder. My eyes focused on her feet.

“Do you ever shut up?” I hissed in her ear.

My cock noticed. My cock liked it, maybe a little too much. Another growl ripped from my throat as thrusted my hips into her, pinning her against the wall further, my erection digging into her cheeks. “Stop.”

“Yeah. You feel that. Don’t you, City Girl?” No words. Just soft, quick breaths. I chuckled in her ear. “Be a good girl or I’ll fuck you into one.”

“Thought I wasn’t good enough for seduction?” she snapped. Clearly my words had gotten to her. I smiled, turning my head away from her. “You aren’t,” I said, stepping back away from her. “You need to rest. Get some sleep. Your rental will be here in the morning. Then, you can leave and never come back.”

I also lied to City Girl. The creek wasn’t flooded. I just didn’t want her to leave tonight.

Not this man lying!!

“Let me ask you something, Kings, where is she sleeping?” Kings was my call sign in the Marines. I stared at him. He answered for me when I didn’t. “She’s in your bed. That’s the first woman to be in your bed since Cathy,” he said, putting his hat on. “It ain’t like that, Mags,” I hissed. He chuckled again, and the sound made me want to break his jaw. “Woman is in your bed, Kings. You have other bedrooms up there.”

“You gonna let me help you now or you gonna start screaming again?” I asked when she glared at me. “I don’t need your help, Mr. Langston.”

I fought back a laugh. My dick was just pressed against her ass, and she still called me that. I wanted to hear my name on her lips, my first name. I wanted to know hers. I stepped forward, taking off my hat and hanging it on the hook. Then I joined her in the bathroom and snatched the cloth out of her hand.

“Hey—” “Hush,” I ordered as I got down on my haunches and held out my ...

“You don’t—” “You’re tracking blood all through my home, City Girl. I would very much appr...

“Gotta clean these, and then I have some ointment to help with the pain. And the healing process,”

“You know, not a lot of people would get away with staring at me like you are right now, City Girl.”

“I couldn’t get you to shut up this last week and now you don’t have anything to say?” She cleared her throat. “Why are you doing this?” I looked at her for a second, then back at her feet. “Because you’re tracking blood through my house.” “But—” “And I’ve dealt with injuries worse than this,” I continued. “Are you going kill me?”

“No, City Girl. I ain’t gonna kill ya.” “What if I go to the police?” she dared. I gestured...

“City Girl, you saying that to a man on his knees in front of you, cleaning your feet and wrapping your wounds, makes me think you aren’t a good judge of character.”

“I am an excellent judge of charac—” “Right. Who do you work for again?”

Ouch

She quickly wiped her face, but I knew she’d been crying. I also knew that I didn’t like her crying, but I ignored the twinge in my chest. She would be gone tomorrow, and all of this would be over.

“Come on,” I said softly, bending down to scoop her into my arms. She didn’t fight it. Her green eyes were empty as she looked up at me, her arms around my neck as I held her bridal style. Fuck, she smelled good, like cherries. Fucking cherries. “Are you going to hurt me?” she whispered. “No.” “Are you—” “City Girl, I’m laying you down on my bed. Then, I’m going into the guest room. It’s late. You need to rest and heal. I have a ranch to run. We both need to sleep,”

She looked up at me again, her dark hair splayed out over my pillows. The hunter green sheets made her eyes seem brighter and her lips pinker. Did she taste like cherries too?