Turn Up the Heat
Page 10
She blinked a few times, confused. Silas had left her a spinning wheel. What details did Trace have to handle? Was he going to charge her storage fees?
“If you’re really plannin’ to pick up your…” He looked at her car. “Your rental doesn’t even have a trailer hitch.”
“Trailer hitch?” She glanced into the back seat. “How big is this thing?”
He shook his head. “Average size. It’s not a Draft or anything that big. Just a Paint.”
She had no idea what those terms meant, and why this big, burly cowboy would know so much about spinning wheels. “So, it won’t fit in the car?”
His face registered shock. “Even if it was a Mini, you can’t transport—”
A loud whinny erupted from a corral followed by male shouts. Trace stared over her shoulder. “Sorry, I need to tend to this.” He glanced down her legs. “You bring any sensible shoes?”
She stared at her pink painted toenails. “Yes, I have—”
“Put ‘em on and head over to the first barn. I’ll meet you there.” He took off at a lope.
She hoped everything was okay. As she watched him go, her mind blanked. Wow, she could watch him from behind for hours. His form fitting jeans showed off his really nice ass. As he jogged, his thigh muscles bunched. Impressive. Not only was he built like a stud, he owned a stud farm. Ironic? Maybe.
Maybe not.
She popped the trunk, dug out her flip flops, and slid into them. Dusting off her “take me” sandals, she set them carefully in the trunk. If all went well, she’d get to wear them again today. It was getting late, the sun nudging closer to the horizon. Would he ask her to stay for dinner? Maybe after, he might offer her a tour and a leisurely walk around the grounds. His hand on her lower back to guide her…
“Ugh.” These fantasies she had going on in her head were getting her nowhere but into trouble. She did not want to appear easy to Trace. Nor would desperate, trampy, or horny be appropriate, either. She needed to get her mind off sex.
“No. Sex.” She stole another glance at the cowboy as he climbed over a fence.
She closed the trunk and headed to the corral where Trace stood holding a rope at the head of a regal black horse. Two other cowboys led a white and black horse toward Trace’s. The big white and black looked wild-eyed, reared up, stomping down hard, baring its teeth, and snorting.
The tail of Trace’s horse was braided. As the white and black horse danced closer, she looked at what protruded between its hind legs and… “Oh. My. God.” They were going to breed them. Right there in front of her.
Macy bit her lip as a flush of embarrassment warmed her neck. She glanced around, hoping no one saw her watching. It seemed so public. Shouldn’t they do this in a barn? With dim lighting and maybe—she grinned—soft music?
Breathing deep of the earthy scent of grass and animals, she murmured, “You’re not in Chicago anymore.” This was nature’s way, a beautiful thing. Animals did this in the wild all the time. It was only humans who had issues about the splendor of the body and its inherent sexuality. This should not shock and embarrass her. Especially in her line of work.
Trace’s voice rumbled low and calm as he talked to the female horse. Mare? She knew very little about horses, except what she read in books. The male horse—stallion—seemed out of control. The cowboys each kept a tight hold on their rope as they drew nearer.
The stallion mounted the mare, driving his extra-large penis home while biting the back of the mare’s neck. The mare seemed compliant. Submissive. She liked being held tight. Mischievous thoughts flooded Macy’s mind. Ideas of Trace and her tangled together, leather and ropes.
Macy glanced at Trace, and, of course, he was looking at her. Despite her nature-girl self-talk, her cheeks warmed at his stare. But she didn’t look away.
The act was over in seconds. The stallion dismounted and the two horses brushed their noses together for a short time before going their separate ways. No awkwardness, no promises to call each other soon. No hurt feelings.
Damn. Why did that depress her? She’d rarely indulged in one-night stands, but if this cowboy offered, it would be hard to say no.
Trace handed off his horse, walked toward her, and climbed over the fence. Macy enjoyed every move he made.
Even in his dressier clothes, he was all rugged cowboy. He'd rolled his shirtsleeves to reveal heavily muscled forearms with a light cover of dark hair. The way he walked, so self-assured, made her all gooey inside. As he drew closer, her heartbeat picked up, and a zap of desire shot through her.
“Enjoy the show?” he asked, a grin curving his lips.
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