Ride Me Dirty: A Cowboy Romance

by Parker Grey

  Ride Me Dirty

  Parker Grey

  Copyright © 2016 by Parker Grey

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  I’m a good girl - but they both want me!

  As the only daughter of the Nero crime family, I’m practically a princess - and I get treated like one.

  That is, until the Diamante family breaks into our mansion, crashes our Christmas party… and two very sexy men take me hostage.

  Colt and Dante are huge, ripped, possessive, dominant, totally in control…

  …and these two sinfully hot hitmen want to share me.

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  Ride Me Dirty

  Parker Grey

  Chapter One

  Emmeline

  The woman on the other side of the check-in counter laces her fingers together, her long pink nails clicking against each other softly, and looks at me.

  "You should know that I'm one of the top reviewers on Travel After Fifty Dot Com," she says, giving me a significant look.

  Should I? I think.

  "Ma'am, I'm very sorry," I say, hoping that I actually sound sorry. "There's just no way that I can upgrade your cabin this weekend, we're fully booked— "

  "Can I speak to your manager?" she says, interrupting me.

  I smile at her.

  "Sure," I say. "Let me just give her a call."

  I punch in the extension and wait while the phone rings, fighting the urge to roll my eyes at the woman with the rhinestone-covered cowboy hat. Behind her, an older man — I'm assuming it's her husband — tucks his thumbs into his belt and looks around at the decor.

  The decor is mostly taxidermy.

  "Annie here," a voice answers.

  "Hey, Mom," I say. "One of our guests wants to talk to you about getting her room upgraded this weekend."

  On the other end of the line, my mom snorts.

  "We're booked," she says.

  "I told them that," I say.

  The woman purses her lips. I smile sweetly.

  "They think we're gonna kick someone else out just because they're pitching a tantrum? Tell them to go suck a frog, sweetheart," she says into the phone. "I'm not coming down there to tell them."

  I can almost see her, rolling her eyes, cowboy boots up on her desk.

  "Thanks, I'll pass it on," I say.

  "People, I swear," my mom says, and then we hang up.

  The lady at the desk looks like she's smelling a fart.

  "I'm afraid I can't upgrade you because we're fully booked this weekend," I say, my voice so sweet it could give me a toothache.

  She harrumphs, grabs the keys off the counter, and shoots me a glare.

  "Come on, Bill," she says, and stomps off toward the cabin.

  Bill follows, dragging both their suitcases. Poor Bill.

  When they're gone, I look in the mirror behind the desk and adjust my cowboy hat, frowning. It's a little too big, but my mom insisted that I had to wear it while working at the front desk, so here I am.

  Wearing a giant, goofy ten-gallon hat and working at my parents' dude ranch in Wyoming. I know there are worse things you can do with a brand-new bachelor's degree in Visual Arts, but that doesn't really make me feel better.

  The front door opens again, letting a blast of hot air into the lodge, and a tall, broad man in jeans, a button-down plaid shirt and a cowboy hat steps through, his face too backlit to see.

  "Howdy!" I force myself to say brightly. "Welcome to the Saddle and Spurs Dude Ranch."

  He stops short for a second. Then he starts laughing, and I can feel my face turning pink.

  I didn't name it, I think defensively. I just have to say it.

  "Emmy Winchester, is that you?" he asks.

  My heart does a flip at the sound of his voice, my mouth popping open in surprise. He walks up to the counter, takes off his hat, and runs one hand through his hair.

  "Afternoon, darlin'," he says, leaning his elbows on the counter. "Sure is nice to have your pretty face around here again."

  Oh my God. Oh my God.

  My entire body is blushing, and my face is frozen in an awkward half-smile. I put one elbow on the counter too, trying to act natural, even though I think my insides have liquified completely.

  "Hey, Colton," I squeak out. "It's been a while."

  "Sure has," he says, a teasing light in his blue eyes. "You went and got all grown up."

  He flicks his gaze down my body, just for a split second, but I think I might explode out of my skin.

  "Yeah, well, you know," I fumble. "It happens."

  He grins at me, dimples sinking into his cheeks, visible through a few days of scruff.

  "My parents didn't tell me you were working here again," I say, grasping at conversation topics. "How long... is it for a while now?"

  That was not a sentence, I think.

  "Just started again a few months back," he says, his eyes locking with mine. "Your mom and dad needed someone to manage the place, and I was lookin' again."

  I glance down at his left hand. No wedding ring. My stupid heart skips a beat.

  "Cool," I say. "That's great."

  He laughs, standing up straight.

  "You comin' to the bonfire tonight?" he asks, the drawl in his rough baritone like molasses.

  "Yes!" I say, a little too eagerly. "Yes, sure, I was gonna stop by."

  "Good," he says, nodding once. "I'll see you there. Meanwhile, I'm around. Find me if you need anything."

  Then he winks at me.

  I turn to jell-o all over again.

  "Sure thing!" I say, my voice still too high-pitched.

  "See you around, Emmy," he says, walking out the back door.

  I stare at him at he goes, practically drooling on myself. If there's actually a perfect physical specimen on Earth — powerful arms, broad shoulders, handsome as hell, nice ass — it's Colton True.

  The door shuts behind him. I put my forehead on the cool counter and take a deep breath, trying to stop blushing fire-engine red.

  I can't believe Mom and Dad didn't tell me he was working here again, I think.

  Before this place was the Saddle & Spurs Dude Ranch, it was the Winchester Cattle Ranch. Colton was one of our hired hands for about four years. When he started, I was just a kid and he was twenty-two.

  I had a huge crush on him.

  My first crush. My hardest crush. My biggest crush.

  As far as Colton was concerned, I was never more than some kid, but my God if only he'd known the times I'd doodled Emmeline True on notebooks.

  Or, as I got older, how I used to hide in the barn and peek between the boards while he chopped wood with his shirt off.

  Or how, even after he had left for another job, he was still the main fuel for my fantasies as I got older and... discovered things. Secret, under-the-covers-at-night things.

  Nothing ever happened, of course. The most we ever touched was when he taught me to shoot a rifle, and — to my great teenage-crush disappointment — he was a professional and a gentleman.

  But Colton True looks exactly the same. I'm the one who's changed... and now, just watching him is making a river of pure molten heat run through my core as I try not to imagine him, shirtless chopping wood.

  Grabbing me by the waist, pushing me up against the side of the barn...

  The door opens again. I straighten instantly and adjust my hat, hoping I d
on't look like I was just lusting over my girlhood crush.

  "Howdy!" I say to the middle-aged couple entering, as perky as can be. "Welcome to the Saddle and Spurs Dude Ranch!"

  Chapter Two

  Colton

  I let the door slam shut behind me. It's not good manners, but manners are the last thing on my mind as I stride toward the horse barn, my hands jammed in my pockets. My heart's pounding a mile a minute and my ears are ringing, because I can barely believe what I just saw.

  Emmy Winchester grew up.

  Good Lord Almighty did Emmy grow up. I could barely believe my own eyes, that the girl at the front desk with the wicked-but-shy smile and the killer curves hidden beneath a flannel shirt was Emmy.

  The last time I saw her she was an awkward, gangly teenager — a nice enough kid, but a kid. I was totally unprepared for her now, almost a decade later, to be so...

  Pretty? Gorgeous?

  Sexy as fuck?

  I slide the barn door open and walk in, the horses nickering at me softly. There's no one else in here right now, so I head into an empty stall, sit on a three-legged stool and lean against the wall for a moment.

  Then I try to think about anything except Emmy, because I'm halfway to a raging hard-on, and the last thing I need is to run into the ranch's owners — her parents — with a massive tent in my pants due to their daughter.

  Make a list of all the horses that need new shoes, I tell myself. Chester, Bicycle, Buzzsaw, Shark...

  I wonder what she'd do if I came behind that registration counter and pinned her against it. My hands on her hips, pressing her backward, my thumbs on the soft skin of her belly as she looks up at me, lips barely parted.

  Quit it.

  Cheerio needs a new shoe for her right hind foot...

  Emmy on the counter, a sighed moan escaping her lips as I tug her jeans off and bury my face between her thighs, my tongue tracing the outline of her lips through her thin panties...

  Jesus, my dick's getting harder while I'm just sitting in here, thinking about the things I can never do to sweet Emmy Winchester, because it only gets worse from there.

  Way worse.

  I've known for a long time that what I want isn't what sweet, innocent ranch girls do with their cowboy boyfriends. It's not just making out in the horse barn or sex in the back of a truck.

  My desires are better left for bad girls. The ones who are happy to get a little dirty and depraved, who've been around the block a few times before they meet me.

  Not fresh-faced, just-out-of-college sweet things like Emmy. She deserves someone wholesome, someone gentle, someone nice.

  Not me.

  "Don't look so glum," Foster says, sidling up next to me and holding out a flask.

  I look at it, then at him.

  "Come on, Colton, have a little fun," he says, grinning. "Don't tell me that now you're ranch manager you're gonna start toeing the line."

  "I sure am in public," I say. I'm still leaning against a post, hands in my pockets, a good twenty feet from the fire.

  "Live a little," he says, taking a gulp from it.

  The ranch guests and employees are just trickling in, taking seats at the rows of benches between me and the fire. The guests are mostly tipsy, carrying beers and wine, and some of the employees are too, even though they're not supposed to be.

  Annie and Tom — the owners — are nice people, but they're notoriously strict. The Saddle & Spurs pays well, but if you're an employee, there's no drinking on grounds, no drug use of any kind, no hanky panky whatsoever.

  And I'm sure it applies doubly to their daughter.

  "Shit," Foster mutters, and shoves the flask back into his pocket.

  I stop staring into the fire and follow his gaze, to where Annie and Tom are emerging from the dark and into the orange firelight.

  There's another person behind them. Emmy. Of course.

  "Colton," Annie says, no-nonsense as always. "You remember Emmy, don't you?"

  Emmy shoots her mother a look, and Annie sighs.

  "Sorry, Emmeline," she says.

  "Of course," I say, nodding genially. "We reintroduced ourselves this afternoon."

  And I've already thought about bending her over a table, her arms behind her back, pulling her hair, and—

  "Nice to meet you again," Emmy says, holding out one hand and looking me in the eye.

  I take it, squeezing her fingers together firmly, and I swear she gives me a look that's almost...

  ...Naughty?

  You're imagining things, Colton.

  "Welcome back to Wyoming," I say.

  I hold onto her hand for a moment too long as we look at each other, and I force myself not to think about what I want to do to her.

  "Thanks, I'm happy to be here," she says, looking up at me through her eyelashes.

  Her father clears his throat, looking around, and shoves his hands into his pockets. I let Emmy's hand go.

  "Everything here is up to code, right?" Tom asks.

  "Sure is," I say, turning to face him. "Fire extinguisher, sand buckets, brush cleared."

  "Good man," Tom says, and slaps me on the shoulder. "Glad to have you back."

  They wander away and sit on a bench. I watch as Emmy leans back on her hands, her long hair swaying behind her. Her curves tantalizing, even in jeans and a shirt.

  Then I tear my eyes away, because I can't afford to mess around with the boss's daughter.

  An hour later, Annie and Tom have gone off to bed, but Emmy's still here at the bonfire. I haven't moved an inch, my boots firmly planted on the ground because I can't take my eyes off the way the firelight plays on her face, over the perky swell of her breasts, over her belly as she breathes softly, staring at it.

  I feel like a dirty old man.

  I am a dirty old man. At least to her.

  Not five minutes after her parents leave, some guy comes over and sits next to her, and something hard and cold tightens in my gut. I cross my arms over my chest, but I don't move.

  She's a grown woman and she's off-limits, I tell myself. No reason she can't flirt a little.

  I can't stop watching, though. After a while, Emmy's laughing, pushing her hair behind her ear. She glances over at me, and she looks almost disdainful. A stop staring look.

  The guy takes a swig from a flask and then offers her some. They chat for a bit, she laughs, and then she takes a gulp from it.

  My hands curl into fists, and it takes a hard physical effort to keep myself from going over there and telling this guy to fuck off. She's better than getting drunk with some frat boy, and I hate the thought of anyone else even touching my Emmy.

  My Emmy? I think, and then nearly snort.

  No fucking way, old man.

  Chapter Three

  Emmeline

  Brock offers me the flask again, laughing. I'm a little nervous but I take it anyway, because I'm trying to have fun tonight.

  The whiskey burns as it goes down my throat, but I force myself not to cough. I don't drink very much, but I can at least not be a total wimp about it.

  "Thanks," I say, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

  Brock pockets the flask, watching me, a smile on his face.

  I'm warm, too warm, between the fire and the booze, and I look away for a moment, trying to get a hold on myself because even this tiny amount of alcohol has me feeling a little woozy.

  "No problem," Brock says, moving a little closer to me. Now our legs are almost touching, so I move my knee away just a hair.

  Colton is across the fire from us. It's probably just my imagination, but I swear I can feel his eyes on me, just watching. Maybe it's more than just the fire and the whiskey heating me up. Maybe it's knowing that Colton is watching me, wishing it were him next to me on this bench, trying to touch me, offering me swigs from his flask.

  I shake my head. No way. He's not interested, and he's probably just keeping an eye on me for my parents.

  And I know that I shouldn't be leading Brock
on, laughing at his stupid jokes and accepting his flask. I'm not going to make Colton jealous, not in a million years, and it's childish to think that I can.

  Besides, it's not like I'm going to sleep with Brock or something. I don't want some dumbass on summer break to be my first.

  "What are you doing tonight?" Brock asks, putting one hand on my knee.

  I look at it, my stomach swirling, then look at him.

  I swear he's leering at me, but at least he's my own age.

  "Going to bed," I say, truthfully.

  He grins.

  "Alone?" he asks. "Or is there room for company?"

  My stomach turns at the thought, and I feel awful for a moment.

  You started flirting with him, I think. Because you wanted to make Colton jealous, and now you have to deal with it.

  "Uh, no, I think it's... a pretty small bed," I say lamely, trying to move my leg away from his grip, but this hand doesn't leave my thigh.

  Shit.

  "I could make that work," Brock says, leaning in close. I can smell the cheap whiskey on his breath, and it's not appealing.

  I stand, suddenly desperate to get away. I wish I'd never talked to this guy, because now I'm unpleasantly tipsy, don't know how to extricate myself, and Colton's still not jealous.

  I glance over. He's watching, though, and this time he doesn't look away when our eyes meet, the firelight reflecting fiercely in his. He looks angry, and I suddenly feel even worse.

  You dumbass, I think.

  "I gotta go," I say, and take a step away but Brock grabs my wrist and holds me tight, pulling me toward him slightly.

  "Hey!" I say, and try to resist his grip.

  "C'mon, Emmeline," he says, leering up at me. "You drank half my whiskey and sat here all night, are you really gonna give me blue balls now?"

  "Yes," I say, twisting my arm around. "Fucking let me—"

  "You need to unhand her," a voice says, stepping out of the dark behind Brock.