by Caisey Quinn
“I’m a man. I know we don’t like to be tied.”
Now there was a mental image she’d be recalling later.
“Well that’s too bad. I had such big plans for you.” Stella was aiming for teasing, but her words carried the irritation she felt. She wanted to throw her hands up, kick the bucket of soapy water over, and tell Van to do this his damn self. She was tired. She was frustrated. Nash had made her feel defective. He’d tried to reach her, to affect her, and hadn’t been able to because she was a cold fish. A cold, empty fish.
And now a man who sent her insides into a scorching free fall was telling her how to handle the animals she’d dealt with her entire life.
Just as she prepared to fasten Shadowdancer’s bridle, he flattened his ears and stomped a hoof in her direction. She backed up and knocked the bucket over.
“Fuck,” she bit out.
Before she had time to react, Shadowdancer leapt toward her. He wanted her out of the stall, but her legs wouldn’t move fast enough. She was about to be pinned under him. Closing her eyes, she braced for the impact. But it didn’t come.
Instead, she opened her eyes and saw black. A black shirt with faded writing on it. One she’d seen before. The first day they’d met. But this time, she was up even closer because Van Ransom had yanked her from the stall and had her wrapped tightly in his arms.
She took a deep breath, both to calm herself and to inhale his rich, intoxicating scent. Expensive masculine aftershave and the faintest hint of tobacco enveloped her. Raising her head, she met Van’s penetrating stare.
He looked as panicked and turned on as she felt. “I’m sorry. I just… I—”
“Thank you,” she breathed. “I got impatient, pushed him too hard too fast. He still doesn’t trust me.”
Van stared at her. She thought he was about to let her go. But instead of releasing her, he lowered his face until their lips were almost touching. “I don’t think it’s you he doesn’t trust.”
“You don’t?”
He shook his head slowly, very nearly grazing her nose with his. “I think he doesn’t trust himself.”
She was pretty certain they weren’t talking about Shadowdancer anymore. His hands gripped her arms, each finger pressing into her flesh just enough for her to savor the pressure. Her chest heaved as she breathed against him.
“He’s probably afraid he’ll hurt you, afraid he won’t be worthy of that look you give him, that trusting one that says you’ll give him anything he wants or needs—even if it puts you in danger. He knows he doesn’t deserve that. He could never be worthy of that.” His voice was heavy and raw, raking over every inch of her.
“Van.” God, she loved the way his name felt in her mouth, falling into the air from her lips and dancing in the tiny space between them.
“Yeah?” He swallowed hard, seemingly recovering from the panic of witnessing her almost being trampled.
She reached up with her hands and touched his smooth jaw. He’d shaved recently. And she was pretty sure he hadn’t shaved to come help out with the horses.
“You shaved for me?”
A small grin tugged at his masculine mouth. “Perhaps.”
“Tell me what you want. Tell me what you need from me. I’m ready for that list now.”
Eyes the color of the early morning sky began to glow with the heat her invitation provoked. “No, you’re not, Stella Jo. And for that matter, neither am I.”
“Please,” she practically whimpered.
She couldn’t do this anymore, couldn’t handle the constant tension that pulled her so tight she was about to snap in half. Her body craved a release. A release in the form of Van Ransom using what she could imagine were well-acquired skills. All that confidence he carried was a result of more than just musical abilities—she’d bet her paycheck on it.
A low guttural sound rumbled through his chest and escaped his throat. “I came down here to help out with whatever you needed. Let’s focus on that for now.”
I need you. The thought came unbidden, and she put furious effort into ignoring it.
She sighed her disappointment as he released her. A breeze blew across them and she shivered. Being in Van Ransom’s arms was dangerously addicting. Being out of them left her feeling bereft.
What she needed, apparently, was this mysterious man and anything and everything he could give her. But he was holding out on her, finally listening to words she wished she hadn’t said.
“Okay,” she said softly. The skin-searing shame that blanketed her as he stepped away warmed her considerably. “See if Mother Maybelle will let you wipe her down a bit. She’s dusty.” Stella nodded to some towels nearby, and Van moved over to grab one.
Her face was still flushed from the pathetic scene she’d made, so she kept her head down as she led Shadowdancer to the pasture. When she returned to the stables, she lowered onto all fours and cleaned up her mess. Grabbing the sponge, she did her best to soak up the water that had spilled. With each swipe, she prayed tears wouldn’t fall from her eyes.
A few moments later, she heard the heavy thud of his boots coming toward her.
“Stand up, Cinderella. I’ll take care of that.”
His voice sounded gravelly and almost choked. As if it were taking considerable effort just for him to speak. She looked up and met his wild stare.
“Please get up. I’m trying very hard to behave myself. You on your knees is not helping matters.”
So he does want me then? Her head swam from the mixed signals he was constantly sending.
Glancing down, she realized that most of her body was drenched. If he wanted her half as much as she wanted him, seeing her in nearly transparent and dripping-wet clothing wasn’t going to help either of them.
Well, screw it. The man had obviously decided nothing was happening between them tonight. If she had to writhe in aching misery, then he could too.
She stood slowly, keeping her eyes on his so she could watch him as he drank her in.
“You’re the devil,” was all he said.
“Perhaps.”
His tongue flicked out to his lips, and she stared openly. “Come here.”
Two words. Two very simple and perfectly commonplace words stripped her of every protective layer she held. Layers she’d built up over the years. Each step she took in his direction rid her of another one. By the time she reached him, she might as well have been stark naked.
A strong hand reached out and gripped her chin. Desire sparked brightly inside of her until flames began to lick at every inch of her body. The heat in his eyes matched the burning blaze encompassing her entire being.
“You. Aren’t. Ready.”
She shook her head violently in an attempt to escape his grasp. Tears stung her eyes. He’d lured her back into his tangled web just to reject her. Again.
His fingers pressed tighter, denting deeper.
“But when you are,” he continued, “I am going to fuck you. And when I do, it’s going to be so deep and thorough that men will be able to smell me on you from miles away. I am going to fuck a path inside of you, a path in which only my dick will fit. Because once I’ve been inside you, you will belong to me. Understood?”
Her knees went weak as her entire body began to tremble.
“Now,” she stammered out. “I want you now.”
This woman was going to drive him straight from rehab into the fucking nut house. She made him insane. Certifiably.
Her deliciously intoxicating scent combined with how much of her body he could see through her sopping-wet clothing was a torture that had begun to break him.
Add the whimpered pleas and her finally submitting to her attraction to him? It was a recipe for destruction—his and hers. But instead of matching monogrammed towels, they might as well have gotten it branded on their asses.
“I-I think I already belong to you. That first day, when you ran into me, something…something happened to me.”
Her words annihilated the last of his re
solve.
“What happened to you, cowgirl? Tell me. I want to hear it.”
The naked vulnerability she was exuding made his dick even harder than her body against him. He released her chin so that she could look away if she needed to. He half hoped she would. But she didn’t.
“I try to avoid you because I can’t understand the way you make me feel. My mind wants to wrap itself around you, to know you, every part of you. The good, the bad, the ugly, and the terrifying. I want it all.”
Her unadulterated honesty enticed him to share a truth of his own. “I dream of you. I don’t know how or why. But I do. Night after night. It’s the first time my nights haven’t been plagued with nightmares.”
“What do you dream, Van? Tell me. I want to hear it,” she whispered his words back to him softly. When she wrapped her arms around his waist, he didn’t feel ensnared like he did with most women. He didn’t feel trapped. He felt needed. In a way he hadn’t felt since he’d lost Val.
He studied her smooth skin, her perfectly plump and heart-shaped lips, the flecks of gold in her green eyes. “Some of it’s nice, stuff you’d want to hear. Holding you, waking up with you.”
“And the rest?” she prompted.
“The rest is more than you can handle, cowgirl.”
Something brave and dangerous flashed and glinted in her exotic-jewel-colored eyes. “You might be surprised what I can handle.”
Words wouldn’t do it. Verbal warnings were getting him nowhere. So he grabbed her underneath her thighs and lifted. The audible gasp she let out only fueled his determination to show her what she refused to hear. Slamming her against the side of the barn, he thrust the rock-hard ridge of his erection against her.
“This what you want, cowgirl? Make damn sure, because I’m no quitter. Once we pass that point of no return, I don’t care if you beg, plead, or outright cry. There’s no safe word, no taking it back, and no stopping.”
Her lips pressed together, drawing his attention to her mouth once again. “I’ve spent so long avoiding feeling things—pain, pleasure, anything—that sometimes I’m afraid I might be completely…empty inside.” Her confession tore him apart, broke through every barrier he’d built.
“Oh, baby. No. You’re not—”
“You make me feel, Van. You’re the first one to ever make me feel. So if you think I can’t handle it, you’re wrong. What you do to me… The way you make me feel…” She stared intently at him for several seconds. “The only thing I’m going to beg or plead for is more.”
Jesus Christ. He sucked in a ragged breath to steady himself.
“I can’t control myself with you,” he admitted quietly. “Not that self-control has ever been my greatest skill, but with you, I have none.”
“I am practically made of self-control. I have enough for both of us.”
With that, she leaned forward and kissed him—softly at first, a gentle brush of her lips against his. Then harder. Hungrier. Pulling and sucking him into her mouth. He felt as if she were devouring him, but he was more than happy to let her.
Due to their equestrian audience, losing himself completely in her was not an option at the moment. Van took control of their kiss, deepening it, lashing his tongue inside her and then dragging it slowly across her lips. He kissed her in the way that he planned to fuck her, deep and deliberate and with a worshipful intensity so fierce he nearly dropped to his knees.
Stella was responsive, so damn responsive it was painful. Her sweet flavor intensified as she opened for him again and again. When she sucked his lower lip into her mouth and barely grazed her teeth against it, he decided he’d give up oxygen, drugs, music, alcohol—all of it—if he could just have this.
“Dear God, you are going to kill me,” he groaned when she began grinding her hips against his. He still held her to his waist, so the seam of her damp shorts stroked roughly against his cock as it strained against his jeans.
“Never,” she mumbled against his lips.
He pulled back, letting out a dark chuckle at the obvious displeasure on her face. His eyes drifted to her full breasts heaving between them. He wanted nothing more than to sink himself into her luscious heat while sucking those perfect swells into his mouth, but damned if he was doing it in a barn with a bunch of horses watching. The old him would’ve just fucked her hard and fast, not caring who saw or if she got hers or not. But something about this woman had him striving to be better. She deserved better. And he had intricate plans for how he was going to take her, and he’d need much more privacy for what he had in store for Stella Jo Chandler.
“How’s that self-control working for you right now, cowgirl?” He smirked at her. “Still got enough for both of us?”
He lowered her gently to the ground as she continued to pout while straightening her clothes. She didn’t meet his gaze as he watched her try and reclaim some sense of dignity. Or maybe her equilibrium. He had no fucking clue where his had gotten off to.
“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing with me, Mr. Ransom, but I don’t much care for it,” she huffed out.
Van couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face. “Oh yeah? Baby, I can promise you, you will enjoy the fuck out of any and all games we ever play.”
Her brows dipped downward but her mouth quirked up, exposing her interest.
“Glare all you want. How wet are you for me right now, Stella Jo?”
Lines appeared in her forehead as she crinkled her nose at him. “Keep playing hot and cold with me and you’ll never find out.”
Van reached out and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Baby, I am always hot for you. I’ve been burning the fuck up since the first time I laid eyes on you.”
Her voice was whisper-soft when she spoke. “We’re past the point of denying ourselves, Van. I think you know that.”
He nodded. “I know.”
He watched as she swallowed hard and her bright eyes round with vulnerability met his. “If we do this and we get caught, I’ll lose my job. But now, after…after that, if we don’t… If you never so much as touch me again, I’m afraid I’ll lose my mind.”
He fought off an idiotic grin. Mother of God. This woman did the strangest things to him. His reactions to her had become uncontrollable and unpredictable.
“That makes me ridiculously happy to hear from your sweet mouth.” He winked at her, but his mind was working overtime. “Listen, after thirty days I get my own private residential suite behind the—”
She opened her mouth to interrupt, but he placed his fingers over her lips. He didn’t know much about love—as in what it would be like to be in love with another human being—but he was pretty sure he was already in love with her mouth. He’d already spent hours upon hours imagining it on his, on his skin, on his cock.
“—main building. And since I’m helping you out down here, you stopping by from time to time to check in wouldn’t raise any red flags. Just as it won’t be too alarming if I’m coming and going in and out of your place every now and then.”
Using the words coming and in and out had been a mistake and his dick was lodging a formal complaint.
She opened her mouth again, and Van heard her arguments in his head before she’d uttered a single syllable.
“I know what you’re going to say,” he began, pressing his fingers firmly against her lips once more. “But we aren’t horny teenagers sneaking in and out of each other’s bedroom windows. We are grown-ass adults who can handle this discreetly.” He knew he sounded desperate, but he felt desperate, dammit. He’d had a taste of her, and there was no limit to what he’d do for more.
Beneath his fingers, Stella Jo smiled. A sight that both froze and warmed his cold, dead heart all at once.
“You have no idea what I was going to say.” She arched a brow, challenging him to argue.
“Okay. Enlighten me, cowgirl.”
Covering his fingers with her soft supple ones and removing them from her mouth, she met his stare. “I was going to
say… How much longer until you’ve been here thirty days?”
I have lost my ever-loving mind.
Stella Jo’s inner voice of logic admonished her over and over as Van walked her to her door. Every step took her in the direction of reason. Of telling him she didn’t know what had come over her. They couldn’t do this. It was risky. Impulsive. Dangerous.
Forbidden.
Nash’s words echoed, flashing in neon red behind her eyes.
“Some sins are worth it.”
And looking over at the beautiful, brooding man beside her, he was the epitome of a sin she’d bet would be more than worth it.
Her entire life, she’d played by the rules. Tried to be perfect. For her mom, her dad, her teachers, her professors. The few boyfriends she’d had, she’d gone along with any plans they had, never complained about last-minute cancellations or hurt feelings. She’d shouldered rejections, breakups, and betrayal with a poker face of stone. She’d smiled. Nodded. Kept her cool. Played it safe in every single aspect of her life.
But when she rubbed a hand up her arm to soothe the prickly bumps that had arisen from the cool air against her damp skin and the man standing on her doorstep reached out and placed both of his arms around her to warm her, playing it safe became a foreign concept. One she no longer had any use for.
“Why me?” she finally whispered, looking up at him as he warmed her in places he probably didn’t even realize.
For a lingering second, he was silent. Gunmetal-gray eyes darkening thoughtfully, a crease appearing between his brows. Full, masculine lips pressed together as his angular jaw tightened.
“What do you see when you look at me, Stella Jo?”
She couldn’t answer immediately, not having expected him to answer her question with a question.
Reaching up, she placed her hands on either side of his face as she had before. Their brief encounters flashed behind her eyes. The way she’d reacted when they’d bumped into each other, literally, the first day. How kind he’d been when he’d found her crying later. Stepping in when Dr. Tyler had been abrasive with her. Spending his nights helping down at the barn instead of getting God knows what kind of sexual favors from the nurses. Even the horses liked him. Despite the cocky demeanor and the tattoos and the brutish way he talked to her, there was gentleness there. She could feel it in the way he touched her, the way he watched her—affectionately. Something protective warring with something possessive.