by Tessa Layne
"Hey, that's my high school bike you're talking about." He returned to where she was and picked her up, stalking around the back of the truck. "Hey, put me down," she protested, even while the rational part of her brain pointed out how difficult it would be to hop up on the running board with her feet in their current condition. He stopped in front of the passenger door and stared down at her. She sucked in a breath, because lordy those strikingly familiar eyes smoldered and made her heart gallop.
"Spanking," he muttered, with a small shake of his head.
A rush of heat flooded her pussy. His words shouldn't evoke that kind of intense reaction, shouldn't make her pulse jump wildly at the thought of his bare hand on her ass. She probably didn't even like spanking. But now that the image had been planted firmly in her mind, she couldn't get rid of it. Worse? She didn't want to. One thing was certain, she wanted to be all kinds of bad with this man who drove her insane and drove all rational thought from her mind. Instinctively, she tightened her grip on his shoulder, fingernails digging in. Her eyes dropped to his mouth as wild, out of control thoughts swirled in her brain.
"Cecilia." This time a note of warning that she refused to heed.
She gripped his shoulder harder, pulling on his neck with her other hand that had somehow found its way there while he'd carried her behind the truck. She scanned his face, momentarily losing herself in the hunger she found there. Then before she lost her nerve, kissed him with all she had.
Chapter Ten
It happened in slow-motion. The way she looked at him, he instantly knew what was coming. No local color the rational part of his brain yelled. But he was powerless to stop it. He'd teased and poked her because he wanted to see the same wild, defiant look she'd had in her eye when he first laid eyes on her in the diner. And when her eyes had lit over the spanking business, he was a goner. It was like two invisible forces were propelling them together, and all the rational, reasonable thought in the world couldn't stop it.
Her mouth was soft yet insistent, and yielded the second he flicked his tongue against the inside of her lower lip. His body tightened as a hit of desire raced through him, tightening his balls and swelling his cock at the way she opened her mouth to him. This was by no means a passive, accepting kiss. It was wild, uncontained, and so hot, he felt his shirt might melt off. Everything narrowed to a field of want, of pure animal instinct. The slide of her tongue against his, the dig of her fingernails into his shoulder pulled a noise from deep in his throat, a possessive growl that had him letting go of her legs, and turning her so that his hips pinned her to the truck, freeing his hands to explore. With a matching noise of her own, she wrapped her legs around him, grinding her hot little pussy right where his dick pressed against his fly. Fuck, she felt good. So good, he felt like he was already on the verge of losing control. If he wasn't careful she was going to drag him right over the edge. He pulled back, breath coming in harsh rasps. "What in the hell are we doing?"
Her eyes were hot, glazed pools, her breathing as ragged as his. "Last time I checked, this was called kissing."
"Sass." He nipped at her lower lip before taking another taste of her and skimming his fingers along the satin skin left exposed by her rucked up tee. Again he was struck at her softness, at the way her body arched into his touch. The insistent pull of her mouth made his head spin, disoriented and drove him wild with an elemental need he'd never experienced before. He eased back again. "This taking the edge off?"
She studied him, eyes blazing, then shook her head. "Heck, no," she said with a throaty laugh before offering up more kisses. Hot kisses. Explosive, inferno level kisses. Jeezus, he was going to combust here, by the side of the road.
"Same," he muttered as he speared his tongue into her again, tasting the heat that matched his own and threatened to consume them. There should be a brush fire where they stood. He wanted to do everything to her. Strip her bare right here and take her in the front seat of his truck. Bend her against the tailgate and bury himself in her, balls deep from behind. Spread her on the hood and feast on her until she screamed his name to the stars. Feed her his cock while he lost himself in the wild abandon of her eyes.
They'd have done it, too... probably... if not for the truck that came barreling down the dirt road, honking its horn. By the time the sound registered, it was practically on top of them. Cecilia pulled away with a gasp, eyes wide and horrified, before she squeaked and buried her head in his shoulder, lungs heaving and muttering something like ohmygodwhatamIdoing?
"I'm sure they didn't see us," he said, breath coming in ragged gasps before he gently let her down, keeping a hand at her waist.
"Oh, I'm sure they did." She pressed hands against pink cheeks, breath slowly coming back to normal and scrutinized him. "I don't know what in the hell that was, but it can't happen again."
He raised his hands. "Don't tell that to me, sweetheart. You kissed me."
She sucked in a breath, ready to disagree, but then let it out just as quickly. "You're right. I don't know what came over me. It definitely won't happen again," she said firmly with a shake of her head.
"I know what came over you." He flashed her the grin that always had women eating out of the palm of his hand. "You couldn't resist me."
"Can you hear my eyes rolling?" she said with exasperation. "I can totally resist you. This was just a... just a... a blip." She casually waved a hand.
He crossed his arms, staring down at her. "And that's why you're stuttering."
"Fine," she gritted. "It was temporary insanity. Definitely won't happen again." She slapped her hands together, and pushed out a breath. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll take myself on down the road."
Trace's brows knit together. The sheer stubbornness of this woman was something to behold. She could win an Olympic medal for obstinance. But if she thought he was going to let her walk that distance on her injured feet, she had another thing coming.
"So we're back to this again?"
"Don't you think it's for the best?"
"No," he scoffed with a shake of his head. "Your feet are still injured and it's still at least two miles to the arena." He opened the truck door and held out his hand. "C'mon, Cecilia, be reasonable." It was a risk, challenging her. He gave himself fifty-fifty odds that she'd march off, just to prove she could. From the look she gave him, she was thinking about it, too. Her eyes narrowed as she stared back, and he half-held his breath.
Then she seemed to reach a decision. "Fine," she acquiesced in clipped tones. "Just so long as there's no funny business."
Trace grinned broadly and moved to help her into the truck. "Worried you can't control yourself?" He lifted her easily, ignoring the sizzle of electricity that made his arm hairs stand on end when he skimmed his hands over her hips, helping her balance as she climbed into the seat.
She made a noise of disbelief in her throat and shook her head, but he didn't miss the dusky pink that flushed her cheeks. At the very least, the brief ride to the arena would be entertaining.
Cecilia did not disappoint.
He should have been prepared for what happened. Weston had warned him, but he'd been handled his whole career, and the interviews he gave during promotional tours were always softball questions - Tell us about your training regimin. What's your favorite color? Tell us what it was like working with "movie star of the week." He was utterly unprepared for the barrage of questions that began the second he placed the truck into gear.
She tilted in her seat so she was looking right at him with those razor-sharp eyes. "So. I've been meaning to ask you, what's your story?"
"What do you mean what's my story?"
"That. How'd you end up here in Prairie? I'm sure there are plenty of rodeo riding schools in California."
He shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road. "I'm an adrenaline junkie, and I wanted a change of pace." The stock answer was vague enough it wasn't exactly a lie. And he was a bit of an adrenaline junkie. And he could easily claim his path to self-destructio
n was some kind of an internal cry for a change of pace. Portia would probably agree.
She cocked her head, two lines appearing above the bridge of her nose. "So roughstock riding is a change of pace?"
She wasn't buying this at all. "Well, yeah. Life's pretty fast-paced in California."
"It is?" Her brows knit together, deepening the creases above her nose and she made a noise of pure disbelief. "So how's that connected to you volunteering at Resolution Ranch?"
"Well, that's easy. I wanted to give back." He forcibly loosened his grip on the steering wheel. His palms began to sweat.
"That doesn't make any sense. You're volunteering at Resolution Ranch, but paying for roughstock riding school?"
"Yep." Better to keep his answers brief.
"How are you managing that?
"I have some money."
"How did you even find out about Resolution Ranch?"
"Google."
Her head popped back and she crossed her arms. "You Googled volunteer opportunities in Prairie, Kansas? The only reason people find this town is because they know someone. So," she paused, leaning forward. "Who do you know?"
"Sterling," he blurted. "We're... distant cousins." They had the same last name, so she couldn't dispute that, could she?
"So you've been here before, then?"
"Sure," he said with bluster, heart hammering. He hoped to hell Sterling was too busy at the ranch to come out to the arena this afternoon.
"So maybe that's where I know you? When were you here?"
"Aww, shit." Panic set in. If he fucked this up now, his career was finished. "I can't remember. Our families didn't exactly get along. I was a kid." Nice and vague. Sterling would cover for him if she asked questions.
Cecilia's voice sharpened. "So why now? Why come back here?"
"Why not? Maybe I wanted to find some connection to family," he snapped, letting his fear get the best of him. "Is that so hard to believe? That maybe I needed a life change and at least there was a connection to family here?"
"So you don't have any siblings?"
He shook his head. "No." That, at least, wasn't a lie. "I've been on my own since I was fifteen." Also not a lie. He might be a dick at times, but he wasn't a liar, and he hated being in this position. Prairie was supposed to be the place where he could lay low and avoid questions. "When Weston mentioned you were a reporter, I didn't expect you to go after me like a shark chasing chum." He pulled into the arena, found a spot underneath a large cottonwood, and jammed the truck into park.
"Is that what you think this is?" she snapped. "And I'm an investigative journalist, by the way. Biiiiiig difference." Her arms spread wide, making her point. "And why wouldn't anyone be curious? You show up from out of town in fancy clothes with a big fancy truck, stirring all the single ladies into a tizzy." The look she gave him would have made a lesser man tremble. "You could be a con man for all anyone knows."
"Except I'm not." Except that in this case, she was perilously close to the truth. "And you heard Weston, I've been vetted."
She shook her head, voice rising. "There's something funny going on there and I'll get to the bottom of it, because I can always tell when someone's hiding something." She poked his shoulder with a finger. "And Weston's helping you hide it."
"You're barking up the wrong tree, sweetheart. You-"
"My name's Cecilia."
Damn this tough as nails woman and the way she got under his skin. She would be the absolute death of him. He unbuckled and shifted in his seat, leaning forward and meeting her snapping gaze head-on, face inches from hers. "Know what, Cecilia?" he said, voice going rough with frustration. "I can't decide whether you need spanking or more kissing." Her eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat, but she didn't back off. The woman fucking leaned in.
"Maybe it's both," she tossed back, voice husky and molten.
He let out a soft chuckle. "Always escalating." His voice dropped an octave. "What do you want, Cecilia? What do you think you're going to win?" He knew a thing or two about always escalating. He'd played that game most of his adult life and it had nearly ruined him. "You want to rumble? I won't say no. You want to take me down a notch? I'm already at rock bottom sweetheart. What are you trying to prove?"
Chapter Eleven
Cecilia's insides melted under his intense scrutiny and the whiskey-rough quality of his voice. Goosebumps pebbled across her skin, right down to her aching nipples. What was she trying to prove? And why, why, why did he have to smell so damned spicy and manly and delicious in the close confines of the truck? When she hesitated, he continued, face still close enough his breath was warm against her cheek. "If you think there's some big story, you're mistaken."
Was that it? Was her pushing some kind of a misguided attempt to show up her former boss? To shed light on yet another injustice delivered to the vulnerable? Was she looking for a story where there was none? All she needed to soothe her bruised ego was to send off her exposé to another publication. Someone was bound to pick it up. This... compulsion to uncover the truth went deeper.
"But if arguing is some kind of kinky foreplay for you, I'm game... sweetheart." Trace's eyes heated as he called her that. He was poking her on purpose... and she liked it. He said it like he was daring her to protest, and it made her stomach do a slow, delicious roll. Oh lordy, did she like the way he said it. Sparring with this man was like an aphrodisiac of the first order.
"Bring it," she breathed, heart pounding, half-hoping he'd close the distance between them and put his mouth on hers again.
"Only if you let me take you to dinner."
So tempting. She studied his mouth, the slightly plump bottom lip, the way his teeth gleamed when he slipped into an easy smile. His cheeks were ruddy from being outside, but not burned, and his eyes... so expressive. They changed colors with his feelings. Now they were dark green and glinting. There were faint crow's feet at the corner, probably from too much California sun, and his eyebrow twitched when she irritated him. The first streak of gray sparkled at his left temple. She could stare at him from across a table all night long and never grow bored. But inevitably, he'd grow bored or choose someone easier, because she was never enough. "I get your moves. You just want into my pants, don't you?"
Trace eased back, eyes intense as he stared right back at her. "I'd be lying if I denied it."
"Well, these pants are locked tight buster. My panties aren't some, some... souvenir for your suitcase," she finished lamely, because why was he looking at her like that?
"Scared... Cecilia?" he rumbled, mouth pulling into a smirk as if he'd one-upped her.
"No." Her refusal sounded more like a question than a firm answer.
He shook his head. "Liar."
"Think so?"
"I know so." He brushed a knuckle along her jaw, then traced her lower lip with the pad of this thumb. The tenderness in his gesture surprised her.
I see you Cecilia Sanchez.
Butterflies launched in her stomach, fluttering against her sternum with no hope of escape. She opened her mouth and nipped the tip, then sucked on it until he made a strangled noise in this throat. She raised her eyes to meet his, and held his smoldering gaze. She couldn't quite get enough oxygen into her lungs.
He ghosted a smile. "You like this - whatever this is between us... and you don't want to like me." His voice dropped. "But that's not why you're scared. You're scared, because I have your number..." his mouth grazed hers lightly. So featherlight, it was like she'd almost imagined it, except for the shock that left her lips tingling and the tickle of his whiskers against her cheek. "Sweetheart." He brushed her mouth again. "But I haven't run away."
He wasn't wrong. But it was something more than that, something bigger. Her sense of self-preservation told her this was the kind of man who could break her. And everyone knew the best defense was a strong offense.
"I've been told I'm a strong flavor," she murmured, body humming with anticipation.
"I like my whisk
ey neat."
"I've been told I'm too bossy."
"I'm bossier," he growled.
His comeback pulled a small laugh from her. "I refuse to tone it down."
"Whatever that means." His mouth landed at the hollow of her neck, hot and insistent. His beard scraped against the sensitive skin with dizzying effect, sending tingles shooting across her body. Her nipples ached, hard and tight against the silk of her bra. She vibrated with arousal, frenetic energy rippled through her like waves on a beach.
But she had to lay her cards on the table. Her voice wavered as she continued to dissuade him. "I'm not easy." How many times had she been accused of being difficult?
"I like a challenge."
"Until you don't."
He lifted his head, eyes boring into her. "You don't know me very well, then."
"I'm leaving soon." It was a weak excuse, but she'd use it. Anything to keep from falling into his orbit.
"I'm only here through Christmas." He nipped at the exposed part of her collarbone. "You're running out of excuses, Cecilia."
She loved how he said her name, like he relished the flavor of it in his mouth. "It's my job to expose liars and cheats." Could he hear her heart pounding? Her pulse was deafening in her ears.
"It's a good thing I'm neither, then." His mouth landed on another sensitive spot on her neck.
She sighed from the pure bliss of it. "Then you'll have no problem telling me why you're really here?"
Trace froze. In the next instant, the sexual tension that had wound tighter and tighter around them snapped like bailing wire pulled too taut, and recoiled. He pulled away with a frown. "You really won't let this go, will you?"
So he was hiding something. The realization sent her heart plummeting to her toes. Disappointment flooded her. "Only because you're hiding something, and you're trying to bamboozle me with, with..." she waved her hands between them. "Whatever this is."
Trace's eyes flashed as he leaned forward. "This... is sexual chemistry, which we have in spades. Only it won't go anywhere, because you're more interested in tilting at windmills."