Boots Optional

by Nicole Edwards

  Boots Optional

  By Nicole Edwards

  The Club Destiny Series:

  Conviction

  Temptation

  Addicted

  Seduction

  Infatuation

  Captivated

  Devotion

  Perception

  Entrusted

  The Alluring Indulgence Series:

  Kaleb

  Zane

  Travis

  Holidays with the Walker Brothers

  Ethan

  Braydon

  The Devil’s Bend Series:

  Chasing Dreams

  The Dead Heat Ranch Series:

  Boots Optional

  Betting on Grace

  Boots Optional

  A Dead Heat Ranch Novella

  Book 0.5

  Nicole Edwards

  Published by SL Independent Publishing, LLC

  PO Box 806, Hutto, Texas 78634

  Copyright © Nicole Edwards, 2014

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-1-939786-25-8

  Cover Image: © Poulsons Photography

  Cover Design: © Nicole Edwards Limited

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  Boots Optional – A Dead Heat Ranch Novella is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Erotic Romance

  Mature Audiences

  This book contains mm, mmf, and mfm interactions and is meant for readers 18 and over.

  Note from author:

  This novella was previously published in the anthology, Some Like It Hot.

  Please note, the story did not change, however, there is a short bonus scene at the end that involves Gracie’s sister, Mercy. Hope you enjoy!

  ~Nic!

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Prologue

  “What the hell?” Grant slurred as he stuck his head in the refrigerator, his plan for finding another beer not looking good. Either they’d already sucked them all down, or he was drunker than he thought. He doubted it was the latter, but the cool refrigerated air sweeping across his overheated skin told him he was feeling something.

  Although “drunk” was a fantastic excuse, it wasn’t likely the culprit.

  “What’s the problem?” Lane asked, poking his head damn near in the refrigerator beside Grant’s, his powerful shoulder pressing up against his arm.

  Grant jumped back, stumbled a couple of steps before he righted himself by grabbing the edge of the Formica countertop. He stared back at his friend, noticing the way Lane moved ever so slowly as he turned around to face Grant.

  Yeah, that hadn’t been at all subtle.

  “Well, damn, Grant. I showered before I came over.” Lane ducked his head near his armpit and sniffed. “Nope, I smell like an ocean breeze. Did you know that’s what a fucking ocean breeze smells like?”

  Grant fought the urge to smile. Lane did that to him. The man was always attempting to make him laugh but at the moment, he couldn’t find much humor in the incredibly awkward situation he found himself in. “What’re you talkin’ about?” Grant asked, the room spinning just a little, but it had nothing to do with the alcohol swimming in his system.

  Although he did need another beer. That or he needed for Lane to go home. Either option would work for him.

  Shit.

  Lane closed the refrigerator door just a little too hard, a couple of glass bottles clanking together as the door shut tight. Grant kept his eyes on the taller man, wishing like hell he hadn’t opened the front door to let his friend in a couple of hours ago. Then again, everything had been fine as they sat in their respective recliners watching television up until about three minutes ago, but no, Grant had to go and need another beer.

  Well, truthfully, everything hadn’t been fine but at least Lane hadn’t realized that. Grant was tense, but he seemed to always be that way around Lane. A reaction that had become increasingly more frustrating in recent months. Mostly due to the attraction he felt for the handsome wrangler who’d become one of his closest friends over the past couple of years.

  “You got a problem with me, Kingsley?” Lane asked, his eyes dancing with amusement, his deep voice reverberating through Grant’s entire body as the man moved closer. Incredibly close.

  “Just need a beer,” Grant said, his mouth suddenly dry.

  “There’s another six pack on the table.” Lane motioned his head toward the kitchen table, his eyes never leaving Grant’s face.

  Grant made the mistake of looking over and sure enough, there was a six-pack of long neck bottles right there.

  How the hell had he missed that?

  When he looked back at Lane, the man was even closer. Close enough that yes, Grant was well aware that he had showered – and shaved – before he stopped by. He smelled good. Too good.

  “You’re actin’ weird,” Lane told him bluntly, tilting his head slightly as he studied Grant’s face.

  “Weird?” Grant asked stupidly, swallowing hard.

  He wasn’t acting weird. He was trying to drink himself into a stupor since that seemed to be the only way he could make it through any length of time around Lane without wanting to jump the man.

  Snapping back to the present, Grant put his hands on Lane’s chest, ready to shove his friend back because he was too damn close. Before he could do as much, Lane covered Grant’s hands with his own, holding them to his chest and preventing Grant from putting any space between them.

  Lane’s heartbeat thudded rhythmically beneath Grant’s palms.

  Double shit.

  “What are you doing?” Grant asked, though the words came out breathless and rough as he stared into Lane’s dark, dark brown eyes.

  “What do you think I’m doing?”

  “Hell if I know,” Grant lied. He knew exactly what Lane was doing and he’d be damned if he knew how to stop him, but that was only because he didn’t want to stop him. Grant had dreamed about this moment, but he’d never thought it would actually happen.

  Not with Lane. Not like this anyway.

  Lane’s chest was hard beneath his palms, his hands hot against the backs of his, and Grant found it rather difficult to breathe.

  He hadn’t had that much beer, damn it.

  “Man, quit fucking with me,” Grant bellowed, once again trying to push Lane away, pretending that he had no idea what was about to happen in three… two… one…

  Oh, goddamn!

  The instant Lane’s mouth touched his, Grant lost all ability to shove him away; instead, he was reaching up, grasping Lane’s hair in his fist and pulling him against him as the kiss exploded. Tongues, teeth, hands…

  “Holy fuck,” Lane mumbled long seconds later when he pulled back, looking directly into Grant’s eyes before his mouth slammed into his once more.

  Grant’s entire body went hot, his cock hardening. And when Lane pushed up against him, successfully pinning Grant between the counter and his massive body, he was at a loss. The only thing he
could do was kiss this man.

  Kiss him and pray like hell that what they were doing wasn’t the stupidest thing either of them had ever done.

  □●□●□●□

  To put it simply, Lane was shocked.

  For one, he’d dreamed of this moment for months, never actually believing they would ever get to this point although they’d been doing some strange dance for about that long. Despite Grant’s attempt to hide his desire, Lane had felt the heat of Grant’s stare more than once.

  And now, Grant had his hands in Lane’s hair, pulling him closer while their tongues played hockey, dueling for control. Lane couldn’t get enough of him. Grant tasted like beer and sex and – holy fuck – he wanted more.

  With ease, Lane managed to spin them so that he was the one against the counter and Grant was in front of him. Holding him near while Grant continued to pull on his hair, Lane snaked his hand between their bodies and made quick work of releasing the button on Grant’s jeans. Within seconds, he had the zipper down and Grant’s jeans around his thighs. Oh, no, he wasn’t going to let this moment go. Not if he had any say in the matter.

  When Grant groaned, Lane wrapped his fingers around his thick cock, firmly gripping him. Just enough to let him know who was in control. Not that Lane had much control left. Not after tonight.

  For nearly two hours, they’d sat in the living room laughing at the television while Grant had tried his best to ignore Lane at every turn. Lane knew how it worked, he knew what to expect from Grant, because the man wasn’t going to outwardly pursue him, even if Lane begged. Yet here they were and his head was about to explode because he was touching Grant, kissing him.

  Fuck. It was better than he anticipated.

  “Holy shit,” Grant moaned as he pulled back, his attention immediately turning to where Lane was stroking him slowly.

  “Does it feel good?”

  “Yeah,” Grant breathed roughly. “Too good.”

  “And to think you’ve been avoiding this. Avoiding me.”

  Lane didn’t need Grant to admit it, he already knew the truth. But he’d promised himself that if they ever got to this point, he wouldn’t let the moment pass him by.

  Something caught his eye and Lane looked up to see…

  Christ. There in the doorway – behind Grant – was Gracie Lambert. She was staring at them, clearly mesmerized to the point she didn’t realize Lane knew she was there.

  What he wouldn’t give for her to take a chance and erase the twenty or so feet that stood between her and pleasure the likes of which none of them had ever known. But he knew Gracie. She wasn’t going to act on any impulse, no matter how tempting the urge might be. She had been blowing them off since day one, and Lane figured that if she had her way, she’d continue to do so until hell froze over.

  “Lane,” Grant moaned, his head falling back as Lane continued to stroke him.

  “I want to taste you,” Lane admitted, his eyes still locked on Gracie, but she wasn’t looking up at him. She was completely unaware that he was watching her, which made it that much hotter.

  Grant didn’t tell him no. He didn’t try to pull away and fuck it all, Lane just wanted to take him in his mouth and blow his mind. Something to ease the pressure in hopes that Grant would see that there was something between them even if he were scared to admit it.

  Lane forced Grant back a couple of steps, enough to give him room to go to his knees on the worn linoleum floor. Looking up at Grant, Lane continued to stroke him while the cowboy watched, his ocean blue eyes glazed with desire.

  With ease, he darted his tongue out and lapped at the bead of pre-cum slicking the head of Grant’s engorged cock. Another growl from Grant, and Lane sucked him fully into his mouth, their eyes still locked together.

  Although he wasn’t looking directly at her, Lane could still feel Gracie watching them. It wasn’t that he needed any damned encouragement because shit, Grant was more than enough to make Lane hot, but he would admit that knowing the woman was standing there, probably heating up nicely from the free show going on before her, didn’t hurt.

  Grant’s strong hand slid into Lane’s hair, holding him firmly as Lane continued to suck him deep and then retreat. Over and over, he continued to lave Grant’s dick while he fondled Grant’s balls with one hand.

  “God, Lane. Fuck. I’ve wanted you to do this for a long damn time.”

  Lane didn’t comment. He just sucked harder, deeper, faster.

  “Fuck yes,” Grant groaned, his hand clutching Lane’s hair painfully tight, sending shards of electricity through his scalp. “God, don’t stop. Don’t ever fucking stop.”

  Grant didn’t have to worry there. Lane had wanted to get his hands on Grant for a long damn time. He also wanted to get his hands on the sweet cowgirl still watching them from the shadows of the front porch. He’d openly admitted to the latter, but never had he out and out admitted the intensity of his desire for Grant.

  Not until tonight.

  “God damn,” Grant howled. “You’re gonna make me come. Fuck. You’re gonna…”

  That’s exactly what Lane was going for. At least for tonight. Tonight was about Grant.

  And the sexy cowgirl who might not yet realize just what she’d gotten herself into.

  Chapter One

  “I don’t give a damn what time he said he’d be here. I fuc–” Grace Lambert slammed her mouth closed, shutting down her own tirade before it was too late. As it was, she had…

  “Abigail Grace Lambert! Watch your damn mouth!”

  Yep, she’d gone and done it now. Pissing off her pop first thing in the morning probably wasn’t the best way to start the day. In fact, she usually preferred a little caffeine before he chewed her a new one.

  Probably to avoid her father’s wrath, Casey – one of the wranglers who helped out in the kitchen each morning – hauled ass out the back door, the screen slamming shut behind him. Lucky bastard. Grace added “Pay Casey back for bailing” to her mental list of things to do today as she turned back to her father who’d puffed up like a bullfrog, getting ready to lay into her a little more.

  “I did, Daddy!” she exclaimed before he could continue. Lowering her voice about ten decibels, she followed up with, “Sorry.”

  “What the hell’s goin’ on in here?”

  The back door swung open and following that dark, rich Texas twang was none other than the bane of her existence, Grant Kingsley, Dead Heat Ranch’s pain in the ass head foreman. He looked at Grace then back out the door probably at Casey running full out toward the bunkhouse to find the cook who apparently thought he was on vacation.

  “Watch your mouth, Kingsley,” Grace muttered beneath her breath as she poured her coffee, purposely not making eye contact. It was bad enough that the mere sight of him made her blush. Especially after… She had things to do, and the first thing on her agenda was to get away from Grant as soon as possible because she damn sure didn’t have time to think about what she saw last Friday night.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Grant said in that silky drawl, his mouth much too close to her ear as he passed by her, using his quest for coffee as his excuse to touch her.

  Grace did her damnedest to hide her unwelcome reaction to the cowboy who’d been working for her family’s ranch for more years than she had been. “Where’s Lane?” she asked, pretending she hadn’t noticed how close he was.

  “Haven’t seen him yet this mornin’,” Grant answered easily as he reached for a coffee cup in the cabinet above Grace’s head. “You lookin’ for him? I can see if I can locate him for you.”

  Holding her own cup with both hands, because yes, they were trembling slightly, she eased out from between the tall cowboy and the unyielding counter to join her father at the kitchen table. “Nope. Just hadn’t seen him yet.” And wanted to make sure I didn’t run into him too, she thought to herself.

  “Where’s Faith?” Jerry Lambert asked, her father’s question not directed at anyone in particular. Or so it seemed.


  Grace sipped her coffee, once again pretending there wasn’t another hot cowboy walking through the back door of the ranch’s main house right about…

  Now.

  “Mornin’,” Lane Miller greeted as the back door slammed behind him.

  His ears must’ve been burning.

  Doing what she did best, Grace ignored him too as she answered her father. “Don’t know. She said she was stoppin’ by first thing, but you know, it’s only six-thirty. Some people like the sun to be up before they climb outta bed on Monday mornin’.”

  Grace hadn’t seen her youngest sister since yesterday morning. In fact, she hadn’t seen any of her sisters because she’d managed to spend her one day off during the week hiding out from everyone, including her family, but most importantly the two cowboys now hogging the coffee pot. Sunday was the only day she didn’t work, and in order to stick to that promise she’d made to herself about taking time to relax, she refused to head to the main house for fear someone would put her to work.

  Or that she’d run into these two.

  It always happened that way.

  “How’s it goin’, Lane?” Jerry greeted one of Dead Heat’s few permanent wranglers, a man Grace tried to stay away from as much, if not more so, than Grant.

  “Good, sir. Got a group coming in this mornin’. Plannin’ a day ride.”

  Lane Miller had been working at Dead Heat Ranch for at least three years. For the most part, he handled the horses that they used for the trail rides. He also led those rides with the guests who frequented the place.

  Did she mention that Dead Heat Ranch was a working dude ranch?

  Grace’s father didn’t respond, just nodded his head. They were all used to it. The man ran one of Texas’ largest dude ranches, but he said very little. Unless, of course, one of the guests pulled him into a conversation, then you could pretty much guarantee the man wouldn’t shut up.