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She gasped as he moved, then he bent close, lifting her in his arms, holding her close.

“We’re going to bed,” he told the others.

Cade and Sam were still gasping, collapsed on the floor at the edge of the sofa. Marly looked asleep. Weary, worn. Brock had obviously driven her past her limits. He had been doing that a lot lately.

“You fucked her unconscious, Brock.” Cade frowned. “She’ll be pissed at you.”

“She’ll forgive me.” Brock chuckled, a rusty, rarely used laugh that lifted Sarah’s heart. “

He didn’t wait for a reply. He carried Sarah to their bathroom.

He carried her quickly upstairs, her body tucked against him, her breathing still labored, wearied. He was drained. The explosive release he poured into her had come from his soul. There were no other words to describe it.

“Bathe,” he told her as he sat her on the wide rim of the large garden tub. “Then bed for you, my little sex goddess.”

Sarah watched him prepare the bath. He was tired himself, yet he was caring for her. The tenderness, the adoration in his expression warmed a part of Sarah that she had never realized was cold. A part of her she hadn’t known existed. At that moment Sarah realized that her soul had never been free. She had been missing something, something essential, something she found only with Brock.

“Okay?” His fingers touched her cheek, his expression was clear of pain, the shadows gone from his eyes.

She smiled, tired, at peace.

“Perfect,” she answered, her voice soft as she gazed up at him. “Never better.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

A routine of sorts developed in the next few days. The sexual tension that had once been a part of the house, eased. Sarah breathed in relief, unaware until then just how tense she had been herself. The plans Brock put in effect for their upcoming wedding blew her mind. She had thought he would try to rescind the offer, she hadn’t expected him to surge forward at such a quick pace.

“We could always lock him in his room until he slows down,” Marly told her as they sat at the kitchen table, tired from the frantic pace they had kept in getting a gown and arrangements together for the small church wedding Brock promised her. Unfortunately, he refused to wait longer than a month to marry her.

Sarah grinned and shook her head. “Probably wouldn’t work. He’d talk me into untying him.”

“You’re so weak, Sarah.” Marly shook her head, laughing.

“Yeah, like you’re any different,” Sarah grunted, glancing out the kitchen window as a spark of light reflected from the trees in the distance.

She frowned, squinting against the sunlight to see if one of the men was working the deserted pasture.

“Marly, is this window bullet proof—” A large crack appeared, as Sarah blinked at the bullet suddenly lodged in the glass.

She heard Marly scream. Sarah jumped away from the table, falling, scrambling away from the window as several more shots fired and suddenly glass was raining down on them as they scrambled across the room.

“Marly, are you okay?” Sarah screamed as she grabbed the other woman and jerked her back along the wall toward the pantry.

Shots were still echoing around the house, dishes shattering, wood and cement flying around them.

“Where are the men? Cade. Brock,” Sarah screamed out desperately as a bullet sent wood flying from the cabinet across from them.

“They’re away from the house,” Marly cried out, clutching her arm, shaking in shock and fear.

A trickle of blood oozed from the other woman’s arm.

“Sarah, he shot me,” Marly whispered, blinking down at the blood.

“It’s a flesh wound. That’s all, Marly.” They ducked as another bullet shattered the toaster on the cabinet. “We have to get out of here. Where the hell are Rick and his men? They should have that bastard by now.”

“Unless he got them.” Marly turned wide, terrified eyes up at Sarah. “What if he got Rick’s men, Sarah?”

“Then we’re sitting ducks,” Sarah said, breathing harshly. “We have to get out of here. We have to get upstairs, Marly. Brock’s gun is in his room. We have to get something to defend ourselves. If he gets into the house and we’re pinned down here, then we’re sitting ducks. We’re dead.”


Tags: Lora Leigh Men of August Erotic