Chance: The Corbin Brothers, #5

By Lexie Ray

I've been taking care of the ranch and my brothers ever since our parents died and have watched my brothers pair off with women who love them one by one. I'd like to experience some of that love, too, but I only have eyes for one woman . . . 

But it would be too complicated. There would be too many factors against us being together. But I can't get her off of my mind—even as our ranch suffers a brutal attack that might end the family business for us Corbins once and for all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lexie Ray
• Release date: Sep 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9798223785682

Lexie Ray

Readers looking for a contemporary romance that will have them on the edge of their seats need look no further than Lexie Ray's captivating stories. With a gift for crafting characters that are both relatable and deeply complex, her stories are brimming with raw emotions and intense conflicts that will leave readers breathless. For updates, subscribe here: Books2Read.com/LexieRay For business inquiries: LexieRayAuthor at Gmail dot com

Book preview

Chapter 1

My lips were locked on Zoe’s, and it didn’t feel like I knew up from down.

I’d wanted this for so long that now that it was happening, it didn’t even seem real.

Me.

And Zoe.

Kissing.

Okay, if I was being perfectly honest, I’d been dreaming of a lot more than just kissing her. That desire made itself apparent in the bulge beneath my jeans, and I didn’t care if she noticed it or not. She tasted sweet, like she’d been sampling the thing she’d burned to a crisp on the stove. It was unrecognizable, now, whatever she’d been cooking. I’d walked in on her cussing a blue streak, despairing over some lapse of attention in the kitchen, and then my lips had acted of their own volition, seeking out hers, quieting her exhortations, igniting a whole different concept of fire. Zoe was kissing me back, her tongue just as enthusiastic as mine, but it was hard to be sure if she was as into this as I was. I had wanted this, had initiated it, and forcing myself upon her would be the worst thing in the world.

I broke the kiss, giving her a chance to say something, anything, to protest this surprise, to tell me she wanted this as much as I did.

But she didn’t say a word. We rested our foreheads together and breathed as hard as if we’d just taken the path between the barn and the house at a dead sprint.

God help me, but I kissed her again.

Was I wrong to? Should I have waited for a better indication of her feelings, a clearer picture for whether she felt the same things for me as I did for her?

It was difficult to think about these things when all I could focus on was the taste of the nectar that was her mouth, the way I had to stoop so low to reach her, the fact that she was balancing on her tiptoes to compensate. I bent forward even more to wrap my arms around her tiny frame and found myself lifting her, mouths still attached, and placing her on the counter, sending dishes and ingredients and vegetables scattering. If that bothered her, she didn’t mention it, not even when I tangled my fingers in her messy hair and tugged her head to the side, exploring the scent of blossoms, following it down her neck. She gasped and panted, her throat bobbing as I dragged my tongue over the sensitive skin there. Zoe wove her fingers through my hair and lifted my face back up, my lips back to hers.

Time was a funny thing. I knew that, logically, we couldn’t have been kissing for more than a couple of minutes — perhaps even less than that. But time warped and doubled and grew fat and resplendent for us, and it felt like we had been doing this for hours. Days, even.

The sharp tips of Zoe’s fingers dug into my shoulders in a way that should’ve hurt, but it only made me want her more. There was something about doing each other’s breathing, our chests heaving up and down, each and every moment so essential to both pleasure and existence that stopping anytime soon was the most ludicrous idea I could’ve come up with. Zoe raked her nails down my front, stopping at my belt, hovering with a seeming indecision. She had to be well aware of my erection by this point, and maybe she was too afraid to touch it. Maybe, by touching it, she thought that there was no backing out anymore. That it would make this tryst something more permanent. Inescapable.

I smoothed my hands down her back, trying to soothe whatever feelings were racing through her mind, trying to keep both of us present in this sweet moment. It didn’t matter that we were making a mess in the kitchen instead of doing this somewhere a little more romantic — like a beach or beneath a mosquito net or by a secluded waterfall. This was reality, not fantasy. I had, of course, fantasized often about something more with Zoe, but reality was so much better than the laughable situations I’d concocted in my own brain. This was real. This was visceral. We both felt this, were swept up in this so irresistibly that we’d laid aside everything we’d been doing, even if it had seemed essential at the moment, to be together.

Zoe let out something between a tiny moan and a sigh and wrapped her legs around my waist, pulling me closer, squeezing me with deceptively strong muscles. She was so tough for being so small — or maybe that was why she was tough in the first place. Because life hadn’t treated her the way it was supposed to. Because she’d been forced to be strong in the face of everything that had happened to her.

Zoe pressed her body against mine and I took the opportunity to hug her closer to me. She was so special, whether she realized it or not. There were so many facets to her and I knew that I hadn’t seen all of them. I would have a wonderful time discovering the entirety of her gem.

I kissed the shell of her ear, making her shudder, and was just about to gently suggest that we move this party to the bedroom when we both stiffened.

Mama! I’m home!

Well, shit.

We shoved ourselves away from each other — Zoe hopping down from the counter and adjusting her shirt — as the front door opened and slammed. I scrambled around for a moment before sitting hard in a chair at the table and draping a section of the newspaper over my lap to hide the bulge in my jeans.

Toby scampered into the kitchen in a matter of seconds, hugging his mother around her waist. He was growing every day — especially since living on the ranch and getting more than enough food and room to develop — and a few of my brothers had a friendly running bet as to how old he’d be when he became taller than Zoe.

Hey, there, Zoe said a little hoarsely, reaching down to ruffle his dark hair fondly. How was your day at school?

I like riding the bus, he declared, looking up at her.

I’m glad to hear that, she said, laughing, but that wasn’t what I asked you. I want to know what you learned today. The best thing that happened. Who you played with during recess. That kind of thing.

She had only just started letting him ride the bus, folding to that small demand for independence. Things had been locked down pretty tightly ever since Amelia had been kidnapped right from this very house, but life had a way of returning to normalcy, if you just waited long enough. All of Toby’s friends had been riding the bus, and he felt left out in that arena. Zoe had grappled with it, watching her only child hop on and off a bus twice daily, away from her watchful eye, but that was just part of parenting — letting go.

Wasn’t it? I wouldn’t have known.

Toby started jabbering a mile a minute — he had a unique penchant for that — and I took the opportunity of his distraction to slip out of the kitchen, still holding the newspaper as a protective screen over my crotch. Zoe didn’t so much as glance at me as I went, focusing her complete and utter attention on her son. Maybe it was intentional. Maybe she couldn’t get herself to look at me after what had just happened — what had almost happened. There would’ve been a lot of explaining to do if that bus had been a little bit earlier or later, or if Toby hadn’t screeched his existence upon opening the door. Who knew what would’ve happened if he’d been distracted by something in the yard, or if he’d gone down to the barn instead of coming straight inside, like he was supposed to.

Anything could’ve happened.

Everything could’ve happened.

I wasn’t in the business of resenting a first-grader for breaking up a potential tryst between his mother and me, but I also wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of a cold shower in the middle of the day. It was the only remedy that I knew besides time to get rid of passion that wasn’t going to be fulfilled any time soon, though, so I endured the frigid spray over my body, willing my erection to stop getting our hopes up.

Zoe and I had been so close to acknowledging the feelings we had for each other that I had tasted it — could still taste it, in fact, the way her tongue had felt in my mouth, her lips against mine.

I cursed quietly and adjusted the knobs on the shower wall until the temperature of the water was a little more tolerable.

This erection was just very stubborn. I couldn’t stop thinking about Zoe, about the way she’d tasted, the sensation of her nails digging into my skin, even through my shirt. The squeeze of her thighs around my waist. The anticipation of more.

Feeling like a helpless dirtbag, I wrapped my hand around my cock and closed my eyes, lifting my face to the shower head’s spray, wondering what it would feel like to have Zoe’s hand clenched around my member instead of my own. What she looked like without the burden of clothes. What she felt like beneath me, my body covering hers, both of us fitting together like I knew we could. Or what she felt like riding me — maybe that would be how she preferred it, being in control, dictating the rhythm and the pace and the rising tide of climax that would sweep us both away if we just gave it a chance to do so.

I gave a soft grunt and used my hand against the tiles of the shower wall to steady myself as I came, focusing on the apex of my orgasm, still stroking myself even as my seed mingled with the water and washed down the drain, fighting to extend the mindless pleasure and delay the onslaught of self-loathing.

Because of course this wasn’t the first time I’d done this, pleasured myself to the thought of being with Zoe.

I wished I were a better man, a stronger one, that I could ignore what I felt for a woman I wasn’t entirely certain felt anything for me at all. I wished for some kind of saint-level adherence to celibacy, that the sight or smell or thought of Zoe would only make me smile, beatifically, instead of getting a hard-on that refused to go away.

I stayed under the shower spray for longer than I could justify before turning it off, feeling more tired than sated, knowing that there was a ranch and everything for me to face out there. I had way too much work to do to justify a daytime pleasure session in the shower.

And there was the fact that Zoe and I now had something really pressing to talk about.

I got dressed in fresh clothes, unwilling to face questions about putting on what I’d been wearing earlier if anyone had taken note of my outfit or my out of place bathing ritual, and girded myself for re-entry into real life.

Real life. Where your impromptu make-out session with the woman you’ve had your eye on ever since she arrived is interrupted by her kid.

It was high time for the fantasy to be over.

I walked out cautiously, certain that Zoe would still be in the kitchen, cleaning up our mess or preparing for dinner or something, wanting to talk about what had happened, what we were going to do to move forward or apart or whatever. This was something that couldn’t just continue on unchecked, ignored. We lived here, in this house, on this ranch, together. Communication was key to getting along, and Zoe and I were no exceptions to that rule. I was afraid of rejection — wasn’t everyone? I was afraid that she would tell me that everything was a big mistake, one that neither of us should look forward to repeating. I wasn’t sure if I would try to talk her out of it yet or not. I had to balance what I wanted with what she was comfortable with, and as simple and gentlemanly as that sounded, it was actually pretty fucking hard.

But Zoe wasn’t in the kitchen. It looked like she’d swiftly tidied up while I’d been in the shower, putting away everything she’d had out, everything we’d destroyed in our few sweet moments, and fled. The entire house was quiet, as if I were the only one who was still inside. That was fairly typical for the mid-afternoon. Everyone who usually was in here was out working the ranch. Zoe would usually try to spend a little time with Toby after school ended.

I raked a hand through my hair and decided to go outside — if not to work, then to at least get some fresh air and escape from this house — and promptly almost ran right into Amelia.

Jesus, you scared me, I said, exhaling noisily.

You must’ve been deep in thought, then, she remarked, giving me a dubious look. I’ve been making all kinds of noise in here. It’s deep cleaning day.

She brandished a bucket and sponge at me, and I put my hands up.

Okay, so I might’ve been deep in thought, I said.

Ranch stuff, or something different? she asked. Amelia was in the house nearly as often as Zoe was, both of them often working in tandem to prepare meals or clean the house. Amelia didn’t have to do any of that, if she really didn’t want to. She was Tucker’s wife, now, after all, and he doted upon her as much as she would let him. A terrible thought suddenly crossed my mind.

Were you in here all day, or did you just come in? I asked, struggling to word my question so as not to arouse suspicion. It would be super awkward if Amelia had been in here while Zoe and I had been knocking things off the counter, kissing, pawing at each other.

Well, earlier I was discussing chicken coop plans with Tucker, and helping him where I could with that, she said. But since then I’ve been scouring floors and baseboards and walls and doors — man, you should’ve seen the dirt that came off the doorknobs. Have you ever even washed them in the entire time you’ve lived in this house?

I can’t say that I have, I said slowly, hoping that this spate of deep cleaning had distracted Amelia from what Zoe and I had been doing in the kitchen. I didn’t know what would’ve been worse — Toby catching us going at it or Amelia. Amelia wasn’t bad. It just would’ve been a scene that I was desperate to avoid. Why let everyone else know about Zoe and me