The Last to Die. Beverly Barton

      He turned around, grabbed her by the shoulders sternly but gently, and said, “Get your butt in the truck. Now. And if you want to call the governor when we get to my office, then you call him. Hell, call the president for all I care. The way I see it, you must have a screw loose to overreact to everything that’s happened the way you have.”

      “Are you implying that I’m mentally incompetent?”

      “Lady, I’m not implying anything. Now, get in the truck before I pick you up and put you in it.”

      Reve jerked away from him and planted her hands on her hips. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

      “Nope. I don’t have the foggiest idea of who you are, except that you’re the spitting image of a lady much nicer than you are, by the name of Jazzy Talbot. And I sure hope for Jazzy’s sake that you aren’t some long-lost cousin or something.”

      “Is every man in Cherokee County a friend of Jazzy Talbot’s?” The minute the question left her lips, Reve wished it back. Damn, now this infuriating man would realize she knew who Jazzy was. So much for her escaping Cherokee Pointe and any complications from her inquiries about Jazzy.

      He eyed he skeptically. “I thought you said you were just passing through.”

      “I was. I am. And just as soon as we clear up this mess about my speeding and about the accident, I plan to be on my way. The sooner I see the last of Cherokee Pointe, Jazzy Talbot, and you, the better.”

      “Then just shut up, get in the damn truck, and I’ll do my level best to see that you get what you want!”

      She loved that he was rough with her, hurting her just enough to make it exciting, to make her heart pound faster and her pussy drip with moisture. He wasn’t like any lover she’d ever had and despite being only twenty—her next birthday in a few months—she’d already screwed at least two dozen guys, including her high school history teacher and a deacon in their church.

      What she loved about Jamie was his sense of adventure, his willingness to take a risk. They were kindred souls. Why the hell he wanted to marry her sister she’d never figure out. She was a far better match for him. Laura would never dream of doing what she was doing. She’d never meet her sister’s fiancé at the stables in the middle of the morning, strip buck naked, and fuck the guy’s brains out in one of the empty stalls where anybody might come up on them. No, not sweet Laura. She was far too shy and sensitive, much too much of a Goody Two-shoes to ever be able to satisfy a man like Jamie Upton, who had all sorts of dirty, wicked desires.

      It was that chance of discovery here in the stables that heightened the tension and gave her a climax only seconds after he first rammed himself inside her.

      “Harder,” she demanded. “And faster.”

      He lifted her hips and delved deeply, then withdrew. Just before he started jackhammering into her, he bit her shoulder. Bit her hard enough that she cried out in pain. But she loved the pain. She felt it in every fiber of her being. Every muscle. Every nerve. God, she wished he was bigger, wished every thrust brought the pleasurable pain that she craved. But he was big enough, hard enough, and wild enough to give her another orgasm. It was building now, her body tightening, the sensation increasing with each millisecond that passed. She bucked up against him, encouraging him to hold back nothing. She wanted to come again before he did—or at least by the time he did. She wanted it to be so fierce and hot that the top of her head would come off. It had been that way the first time they’d hidden in her closet at her parents’ house and tore at each other like a couple of animals.

      “Damn, girl, you’re wild,” Jamie told her as he increased his movements to a frenetic pace.

      When he groaned deep in his throat, she knew he was fixing to spew into her. Her pubic lips swelled even more and moisture gushed out of her. And the very second he burst inside her, she unwound like crazy. Screaming with release, she clawed at his back, still covered by his white tuxedo shirt. While the aftershocks rippled through them, he collapsed on top of her, then rolled over and onto his side. She purred like the satisfied kitten she was, then rose up over him just enough to lick a wet trail from his right shoulder to his navel.

      “You want to lick me clean, don’t you, you little she cat?” Jamie grabbed her head and shoved her face against his penis. “Do it, darlin’. Get a good taste of me.”

      She struggled against his hold, but he was bigger and stronger and she couldn’t escape. Sheridan Willis growled, bared her teeth and opened her mouth. She could bite him. Bite him hard. That’s what he deserved. But, God, it would be such a shame to put him out of commission, even temporarily. She licked her lips, then placed her tongue on the tip of his sticky, deflated sex and licked off the mixture of their combined juices.

      Chapter 5

      “She’s insane even to consider going through with the marriage,” Andrea Willis told her husband in the privacy of their guest quarters at the Upton home.

      When Laura had told them at lunch today that Jamie had explained—to her satisfaction—about his sudden absence from the engagement party last night and that the wedding was definitely on, everyone seemed as shocked as the bride’s parents. Although a sweet, sometimes even docile child, Laura had always been difficult to understand. God knew Andrea had tried to bond with their eldest child, but it had proved an impossible task. Of course she loved Laura. Who wouldn’t? But having to deal with the girl’s ongoing emotional and mental problems often proved too much for Andrea.

      “Never, ever use the word insane when you refer to Laura!” Cecil Willis glowered menacingly at his wife, his lightly tanned face splotching with color.

      Andrea felt herself pale as she realized why he had gotten so upset over her use of the word insane. Most of the time she didn’t think about that reason, preferring to wisely let the past stay buried, but apparently the past seldom left her husband’s mind. Especially not where Laura was concerned.

      “Cecil, I did not mean to imply that Laura is actually crazy, the way…Laura’s just emotionally fragile. She’s a true purebred, like her father.” Andrea patted her husband’s shoulder soothingly. “All I meant by my remark is that I find it incomprehensible that she’d actually marry Jamie knowing he went to another woman the very night of their engagement party. Not when the entire town knows where he was.”

      “I intend to talk to her, but I doubt it will do much good. I’m afraid if I forbid her to marry him, it will only make matters worse. She’s been doing so well these past few years. I’m afraid if I press the issue, she might have a breakdown again.”

      “We’re definitely in a difficult situation,” Andrea agreed. “If we forbid her to marry him, it might push her over the edge. But we both know that if she marries him, sooner or later his philandering ways will destroy her emotionally.”

      “If this was another century, I could call the bastard out, challenge him to a duel, and kill him,” Cecil said.

      So like her husband to consider a once legal solution to protecting one’s honor and acquiring justice when a family member had been wronged. Cecil was an old-fashioned Southern gentleman to his very core. Generations of good breeding went into making that kind of man, just as generations of good breeding produced the Kentucky Derby-winning thoroughbreds the Willis Farm produced.

      “If I thought killing Jamie Upton would solve the problem, then I’d load the gun and hand it to you.” Andrea sighed. “But we know what his death would do to our Laura.”

      Something alerted Andrea that they weren’t alone. She wasn’t sure if she’d heard the door open or not, but when she glanced at the threshold, she saw her daughter Sheridan standing there. Beautiful, vivacious Sheridan, with her big brown eyes and chestnut brown hair so like Andrea’s own. Her baby girl was a wild hellion, but as mentally stable as they came. No temper tantrums. No crying jags. No emotional breakdowns. Sheridan was made of tough stuff. And like her mother, when she saw something she wanted, she reached out and grabbed it.

      “Whose