Hard-Riding Cowboy (Kinky Spurs #3)

by Stacey Kennedy

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  Table of Contents

  About the Author

  Copyright Page

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  For Patches, Simon, and Georgia, the cats who have left their whiskers on my heart.

  Prologue

  “Step one foot closer and kiss your testicles goodbye.”

  Most men would have stopped and slowly backed away at the threat. Not Nash Blackshaw. He locked the door of the log cabin and kept on coming with a gorgeous smile that charmed the panties off many women. His messy brown hair drew out the intensity of his blue eyes, which led down to a purely masculine chiseled jawline.

  “I wouldn’t stop you from kissing my nuts, Freckles,” Nash murmured, not missing a beat.

  Freckles. Megan Harrison had tried to hate the nickname he had given her during their high school years—relating to the freckles spattering her nose—but her heart tripped every time he purred the single word.

  Pressed against the wall in the newly built log cabin at the Blackshaw Cattle Guest Ranch, Nash moved with purpose toward Megan, his gaze stalking her. That single statement she muttered had been her last-ditch effort to kill the heat flaring inside her.

  She failed miserably.

  The bright moon tonight provided ample light showing Nash’s face fully when he passed the window. Her belly flip-flopped at all the promises in his eyes. But Megan could count four very good reasons why she should not be alone with him.

  One, they were currently attending the wedding of Chase, Nash’s brother, and Harper, Megan’s best friend. The music and laughter from the reception going on outside at the Blackshaws’ cattle ranch was all but muffled now, but people were still nearby.

  Two, Nash went through women like he changed his socks.

  Three, the only commitment Megan had ever seen Nash make during all the years they attended the same schools together and hung out in the same circle of friends was to Gus, his yellow Labrador retriever.

  Four, Nash was the reckless son of her father’s sworn enemy, Rick Blackshaw. And the long-standing feud between the families over their cattle businesses held strong. For reasons Megan didn’t quite know, Nash was the Blacksaw brother with the deepest animosity toward her father. She didn’t doubt in the least that Nash only wanted her as a dig at her father.

  Even so, all those reasons seemed to up and vanish tonight. Megan wanted this one night to sate her hunger. Which was why after their obligatory slow dance as part of the wedding party, she had headed to the last cabin, far away from the other guests, telling herself Nash wouldn’t follow and yet wanting him to do exactly that.

  When he finally closed the distance and pressed his hands next to her head against the wall, her nipples hardened. A devilish smile curved his mouth, and he leaned in close. He smelled like pine and pure man, and damn, she wanted all his hotness grinding against her until she screamed his name. He gazed at her mouth before he arched a single eyebrow. “Got any other snappy one-liners, or can I finally kiss this sassy mouth?”

  Usually she would have had a smart-ass response, but her brain failed her. She shivered as heat invaded her like a high-grade fever. She pulsed and ached and dampened, desperate for him to sink in deep and show her what he could do.

  “This one night,” Megan told him. “That’s it. Never again.” Because her heart had no defense against the likes of Nash Blackshaw.

  He nuzzled her neck. “Not even up for a negotiation?”

  “There will be no negotiation,” she stated firmly, grasping onto his dress shirt and pulling him closer. “Take tonight or get out.”

  “Oh, Freckles, I’m certainly going to have you tonight, let there be no doubt about that.” His low, smooth voice tickled her in all the right places. He brushed his nose down the side of her neck and dropped a kiss there. “Any other demands before I shut off that busy mind of yours?”

  God, that touch . . . his lips . . . She moaned.

  He leveled her with his cocky smile. A smile he had mastered during his twenty-eight years. This time, though, she saw the slight tremble of his body. The ravenous need running rampant through his veins. Oh, to be the thing that cracked his ironclad composure was sweeter than any chocolate she’d ever tasted.

  To give him the answer he sought, she slid her hands along his forearms, relishing the sculpted muscles beneath her fingers, and up his white dress shirt to his wide shoulders. She rose to her tiptoes, pressing her mouth to his as the only response she needed to give. He met the kiss with power and something so much more addictive.

  For a single heartbeat, she owned him, but a heartbeat later, a ragged growl rumbled from deep in his chest. He gripped her legs, pulling them up and around his waist. His big hands cupped her bottom, and her back bumped against the wall.

  Dear Lord, Nash knew how to kiss a woman into mindless satisfaction. His tongue swirled with hers, skilled and masterful, and the unexpected emotion he poured into his kiss sent her tumbling into sensation. Because Nash wasn’t only testosterone and muscle, he was sensual and passionate. And when he kissed, he meant it.

  More, Megan silently begged.

  She ground herself against his hardened length pressing against the juncture of her thighs. Yes, this was what she’d wanted. To feel him. To need him. To have him this close.

  His low chuckle prickled goose bumps across her arms. “I have waited a long time to have you. You will not rush me.”

  She reached for his belt and had his beige slacks open in a second flat. “Wanna bet?”

  Nash gave his panty-melting grin. Oh, yeah, that grin was the one she thought about. Every goddamn day. He placed both hands on her hips and turned her slightly, urging her toward the bunk beds. “Yeah, I’ll take that bet.”

  Her back met the wooden ladder, and he reached for the thin fabric of her violet-gray bridesmaid’s dress and began lifting. Megan expected him to remove her dress fully. Instead, he surprised her by twisting the fabric until he had used the dress as a makeshift rope and tied her to the ladder behind her.

  The heady amusement in his eyes made her squeeze her thighs together tight, pooling heat low in her body. “Are you comfortable with this?” he asked huskily, sliding his hands down her arms to settle onto her hips.

  “Yes.”

  He brushed his nose against her neck and inhaled deeply, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. “Always so tough, Freckles.”

  Yeah, she had to be tough around him. She always needed to stay on her toes. That was their game. He would push a little. She would push back hard, never showing weakness.

  Tonight, she wanted to let go. Sure, she could blame it on the four glasses of wine creating the slight buzz in her body. But that would be a lie. For this one night, she simply could not fight against what her body and heart so desperately wanted.

  Him.

  Until tomorrow. Until she saw once again that Nash was running from his pain after the spine injury that had ended his professional bull-riding career. Until she saw that all he wanted to do was win against her father. Until she was reminded that if she let him in, all she would be left
with was her heart in tatters.

  Just tonight. Only tonight.

  A good hard ride, then she’d forget all about Nash Blackshaw.

  The inherently masculine sound he made stole away her thoughts when he pulled her bra cups down beneath her breasts, exposing her taut nipples. His wet, cool tongue circled each one before he drew the bud up to the roof of his mouth and sucked. Hard. He nibbled and played, teasing her to madness, before moving onto the next one. She was left gasping and wiggling in the binding on her wrists, aching for more of that skillful tongue. Because if he felt that good kissing and nibbling, how would he feel . . .

  Megan sucked in a harsh breath when he traveled lower, kissing along her stomach until his fingers tucked into the edge of her panties and pulled them down. Keeping those gorgeous eyes—that were incredibly sinful when he was aroused—on her face, he lowered to one knee. She trembled, and didn’t feel the least bit ashamed for it, when he leaned in and slid a slow lick across her sex.

  Her knees buckled. Her mind went black. “Fiery and sweet,” he murmured against her most sensitive flesh. “A deadly combination.” He circled his thumb over where she needed him most. Her eyes shut tight and she moaned, lost in where he took her. “But you make me crazy, Freckles.” He sucked on her clit hard, and she thrust her hips forward, grinding against his mouth. His low chuckle vibrated against her sex, and every nerve ending awoke under his touch when he slid one finger inside her. Then two. “You make me desperate to watch you fall apart in my arms.” He nibbled on her clit and began pumping his fingers in a steady rhythm.

  Sensation flooded her, and her head fell back as a ragged moan slid through her lips.

  His fingers stilled. “Look at me.”

  Megan lowered her head, and he thrust again. Harder. Faster. She held his stare, somehow knowing that if she looked away, he would stop. And she wanted him to get her there. To take her higher. To push her over the edge.

  Then he did.

  Megan came against his fingers with a hard shudder and moans she couldn’t have fought even if she tried. Within seconds he was back on his feet and sinking inside her. His condom-covered cock slid with long, slow thrusts, filling her up to perfection. His one hand threaded in her hair, the other holding her hip while he drove deeper.

  “I need to see those eyes.”

  The fierceness of his voice snapped her eyes open. Then she tumbled into all the promises in the depths of his gaze. Every barrier she had up against him crashed and burned.

  For a moment, everything was easy.

  Nash was not fighting against all the shit he ran from. His cockiness had vanished. His need to prove he had won was gone.

  For this one second, there was only the perfection where two souls touched and knew each other wholly. In that pure moment, she lost herself fully, free falling into the pleasure he offered. She came against him in a hot rush of emotion and satisfaction, with Nash following right behind with a low groan.

  Many, many minutes later, she found the strength to reopen her eyes and face reality. Everything beautiful and sweet vanished at the arrogance coupled with determination in Nash’s expression. She knew that look well. She hated that look. “Just tonight,” she reminded him, trying so hard to find her ironclad walls. “This can never happen again.”

  Megan caught his smug grin before his lips sealed across hers again. He feverishly kissed her, returning all that heat in an instant, and then he chuckled against her mouth. “Good luck with that, Freckles.”

  Chapter 1

  Wanting Nash was easy. Ignoring him was so damn hard.

  Everything inside of Megan urged her to look left at Nash, the man watching her intently. That had been an added piece of hell since they’d been together at Chase and Harper’s wedding. She knew whenever he was near by the hair rising on the back of her neck.

  She sighed and set the beer down in front of the guy with the black cowboy hat whose cologne was too strong. Her stomach turned a little. Any strong scents lately sent her tummy tumbling. The man sat atop a metal stool at the shiny, reclaimed-wood slab bar in Kinky Spurs, the western-themed bar she owned in the heart of River Rock, Colorado. Her cowboy boots crunched against the peanut shells littering the ground. Her red T-shirt with KINKY SPURS written across her chest rested low over jean shorts that barely covered her butt. She had put the uniform into place back when she bought the rectangular space bookended by two stages two years ago. She had loved every minute during those years, but she began to regret her decision about the uniform when her shorts rode up in places they shouldn’t. The uniform lately seemed . . . tight.

  Still, the rest she loved.

  Rows of liquor bottles lined the back wall to keep the customers ready for a party. Above those, a bright-pink neon KINKY SPURS sign rested below large deer antlers. The greasy aroma wafting out of the kitchen was perfection, especially when nursing a hangover. Over the past few weeks, Megan had developed an addiction to burgers. All kinds. Who was she kidding. Every kind.

  The bar was rough, not classy. From the wood-paneled walls, the mechanical bull on one stage and the live band on the other, to the testosterone oozing off the cowboys, Kinky Spurs was all hers. Well, minus the mortgage she had on the property. Which was lowered with the inheritance her grandmother had left her when she passed a few years back.

  Only, tonight there was something she could do without. Cowboys. Scratch that, one cowboy in particular.

  It didn’t matter that Nash was on the other side of the bar sitting with his two brothers, Shep, the oldest, and Chase, the middle Blackshaw brother. The weight of his stare felt like a thousand pounds pressing down on her. There was a giant elephant in the room. She knew it. He knew it. Hell, everyone knew it.

  Every second his gaze followed her. Every minute that he stared intently only made her heart beat faster. She began to imagine plucking out his eyeballs just to stop feeling the way his gaze caressed over her, making her want things she should not want.

  “What can I get ya?” she asked the woman next to her last customer, raising her voice over the Chris Stapleton song the live band belted out.

  “A cosmopolitan,” the woman yelled back.

  Megan turned to fetch the woman’s drink when her gaze connected with Nash. Dammit. Those eyes locked on her, making her belly flip and flop. She quickly glanced away, her hands shaking when she reached for the vodka and triple sec.

  When the hell did she become this pining woman?

  Megan Harrison had her stuff together, buying her own bar at only twenty-five, working long, hard hours without ever complaining. She’d been the girl with a good head on her shoulders. The woman who knew better than to get with men like Nash Blackshaw. She had seen men at their worst, drunk, belligerent, and broken. Those men never shook her, but Nash rattled her right down to her bones.

  She sighed . . . again, grabbed the martini glass, and began pouring the vodka first. It wasn’t like she hadn’t been able to handle Nash before. All through high school when he laid on the charm, she turned him down. Every single time. Even into her twenties, before he left to join the professional bull-riding circuit, she cleverly thwarted his attention. Until her twenty-seventh year. Apparently, this was the year that would change everything.

  Most of all, her and her life.

  There was no refusing the way her body and heart craved him anymore.

  Which was entirely the problem. She never should have let that night happen. And yet, she didn’t regret it either. Good things came from that night.

  The first few weeks of ignoring Nash had been easy. She’d whipped up some snappy lines and kept him at a safe distance. Life returned to what it had been before she’d had a lapse in judgment and let Nash win for a night.

  Things were good. They were back to normal. Until she was into the fourth week after their night together. Everything changed then. And ensuring Nash got nowhere near her heart had proved harder. He seemed to invade cracks in her walls. More and more, she forgot all the reasons
they shouldn’t be together.

  Wide awake, he was there. In her dreams, he was there. He would not go away. Ever.

  When the fifth week came along, she had a softness for him that was utterly dangerous for the power it gave him. Without a doubt, the moment he spotted that weakness, he’d exploit it to his advantage. Her heart had never been at a greater risk. For one thing, he had a terrible track record with women. For another, he was a man who didn’t fight for a damn thing but himself. A man who took and took and took, until all that was left was the crumpled-up women he left behind.

  No, thanks.

  And yet . . . and yet, she pined for him like a cat pined for a cardboard box.

  Because of that, she had done what any normal woman would do. She avoided all eye contact, hoping to hell he would leave her alone. Cowardly, maybe. But when all else failed, what was a woman to do?

  She finished off the cosmo, delivering the drink to the customer, then accepted payment and tossed the cash into the register. A slow heat sizzled down her spine, no doubt Nash stripping the clothes right off her body with his gaze. She huffed and grabbed the microphone from below the bar, ready to get her mind on something else. She ducked under the bar’s gate, then lost her breath completely when she hit a hard wall that was Nash’s chest.

  Against her better judgment, she slowly looked up into his captivating blue eyes. And then came his panty-melting grin. “Miss me?” he asked, rich with arrogance.

  Her lips parted to unleash a sassy retort. Dammit, it never came. “Can I help you with something?” she asked instead.

  His low chuckle smacked a tsunami-sized wave of heat into her. The scent of beer and man and pine brushed across her face when he dropped his chin and arched an eyebrow. “I can think of a couple things you could help me with, Freckles.”

  She planted her hand against his rock-hard chest and pushed. Damn him. He didn’t even budge. “There’s a thing called personal space. You should learn what that is.”