Country Love (A Billionaire BWWM Romance)

by Mia Caldwell

  I couldn’t move. I was stuck fast and sweating like a barn animal.

  Perfect.

  "Tanner Brock," he said, his hand outstretched.

  "Monique Williams." I had to lift my chin to look him in the eye. I wasn't a tiny little thing by any means, but with my heels sunk down into the mud, I only came up to his chin. He was six foot three...at least.

  "Monique, sweetheart, I'll give it to you straight," he drawled in that cowboy voice. "I got a lot of work to do round here and not a lot of time to do it. I know you got a job to do, and I'll do my best to help you out, but I got my own timetable here." He stared at me, unblinking.

  I was taken aback with his directness. "Well, all right, Mr. Brock..."

  "Tanner's fine, darlin'," he interjected.

  "Well Tanner, my aim is to get some shots of your daily life at the ranch here, so that works out perfect for me."

  Without meaning to, I had slipped into the slow drawl of Heath County. Tanner noticed instantly. His eyebrows shot up his forehead. "You a Texas girl, Miss Williams?"

  "I lived here a spell," I smiled. I can turn accents on and off like a faucet.

  Tanner flicked his eyes up and down, so quickly I wouldn't have noticed if he wasn't the sole focus of my attention. "Pardon me, but I sorta figured a Texas girl would have better sense when it came to footwear on the ranch."

  I looked down at my submerged heels and bristled. "Well pardon me, but I thought a Texas boy would have better manners than to be doing chores when he was expecting company," I shot back.

  Tanner's perfect lips curved downward. "You are right sweetheart, where are my manners?" he drawled in a high falsetto. "Follow me down to the house and I'll get you a nice cold glass of sweet tea."

  I shot him a murderous look. "You know damn well I'm stuck," I said.

  "Oh really?" he feigned shock. "Well darlin', I sure hope you packed some boots in that nice luggage of yours."

  He knelt down into the mud at my feet. "Hey now," I protested as he started yanking on my foot.

  He ignored me and yanked harder. I nearly toppled over as he pulled. At the last moment, I planted my hand on his shoulder to keep from landing on my ass.

  He felt as solid as a sun-warmed boulder. My hand lingered like it had a mind of its own. It was all I could do not to stroke my hand down that sweat-slicked skin...

  "There you are," he said, startling me out of my trance by clapping his hands together. "Just hop on over to that dry part there."

  With a little squawk, I launched myself into an inelegant little leap and landed on a non-quicksand portion of the road. "Thank you," I muttered, out of breath.

  "No problem," he said, touching the brim of his hat. "Ma'am."

  I seethed, my blood hotter than the sun overhead. Never in my life had I wished so badly for the ability to strike someone down with a look. I wanted to kill him.

  And then fuck him.

  And then kill him again.

  Or maybe just one of the three. I hadn’t decided which.

  Chapter Six

  Tanner

  I liked her immediately, partly because she was staring me down like she wanted to murder me with her bare hands.

  Partly because I believed she could do it. I can't help it; I'm a sucker for a good challenge.

  Since I started in the music business, women have been a constant. I used to have a hell of a good time back when I first started. Thing is, after awhile, I got bored. Maybe it was the rancher in me, but I get suspicious of things that are too easy. I feel most at home when I have something to tangle with.

  Right about now, Miss Thang over there looked like a worthy opponent. She had these lips on her, the kind that looked like they could just as easily kiss me as rip me a new one.

  I decided to have a little fun. Feign ignorance, watch her struggle, wiggling that ass of hers. I was just starting to enjoy myself when she called me out.

  "You know damn well I'm stuck," Oh boy, I could just hear the exasperation. I had to laugh.

  "Oh really?" I pulled my innocent, 'gosh-golly-gee face' but just like I suspected, Miss Thang wasn't falling for my act. Good. "Well sweetheart, I sure do hope you packed some boots in that nice luggage of yours."

  Well that sure pissed her off. She was already as ruffled as a wet hen, all puffed out and squawking. But when I called her out on her footwear, she started hissing and spitting like the feral barn cat that ruled this place when I was a boy - God rest his nasty, bitey soul. But as stuck as she was, I was still in danger of being killed dead by her death glare, so I relented and went down on one knee next to her.

  She hissed again, this time in surprise, and tried to hop away from me. "Hey now," she protested, but I had her by the ankle. I was enjoying myself even more now that I had an excuse to wrap my hand around that leg of hers. Up close, her skin was incredible, a million different shades of darkness - all cocoa and eggplant and ebony. There weren't too many girls who look like her in Heath County - fuck, there weren't too many girls that looked like her period - and I was flat out staring now.

  Once she was free, I reluctantly released her and she did this funny little stumble-hop out of the mud. "Thank you," she said, still sounding like she wanted to kill me but at least attempting to be polite about it.

  My manners kicked in on autopilot and I touched my hat when I told her she was welcome. That gesture - usually enough to make panties fall off five counties over - seemed to piss her off even more.

  What was with this chick?

  I stared back, wondering what the hell to do now. She narrowed her eyes. I narrowed mine. She put her hands on her hips. I planted my feet and crossed my arms. She twisted her lips and I felt my own mouth twitch in response.

  We were frozen together in a staring contest and I couldn't help but feel like I was losing.

  I don't like losing.

  She cocked her head and arched her eyebrow and finally I couldn't take it anymore. "What?!" I exploded.

  "I have to get a shot of you," she said, lunging for the trunk of the still idling car. "Golden hour. Hold still, the light is perfect."

  "You're fucking kidding me, right?" I sputtered, but she was not paying me any attention anymore. She banged on the trunk and the driver, who clearly knew who was in charge here, popped it open immediately. She yanked and cursed until a black bag emerged.

  Miss Thang, so polished and poised a moment ago, dropped right to the muddy ground and started fiddling with expensive looking lenses. I could have stripped naked and done a jig and she wouldn't have even noticed, so focused was she on her work.

  Gave me a nice long time to stare at her body, if I was being truthful. I’m not complaining.

  Her shoulders were broader and more muscular than I would have suspected, probably a result of hoofing that bag around everywhere. She had actual muscle definition in her arms, too. She wasn't afraid to work hard, that much was clear from her body, even if her clothes told a completely different story. In fact, the longer I looked at her, the more I came to the conclusion that this high-heeled princess act was just that. An act. Take away those silly, citified rags and I was sure the real Miss Williams would be revealed. Just need to let her hair out of that slicked black bun, get her out of that flimsy little blouse, unzip that hip hugging skirt that cupped her ass like a good, firm handhold...

  Great. Now I've worked myself up into a giant hard-on.

  "Okay!" she sang out. She whirled around with that huge camera and stopped short. I kind of awkwardly bent at the waist, but her eyes, damn those eyes, went right to it.

  I was caught.

  And I was blushing like a hormonal schoolboy about it too.

  She twisted those lips. "I'll get a few shots from the waist, up," she said pointedly.

  I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. I suddenly had no idea what to do with my hands.

  "Put your hands down," she admonished me. "On the fence there. That's right, now look at me. No, look at me, not the camera. Perfect."r />
  The shutter clicked a few times as I stared at her. Her eyes were hidden behind the massive black lens, so I focused on her neck, that swooping, elegant neck that curved into her strong shoulders. The awkward angle of her crouch allowed her blouse to fall open a bit, revealing a creamy satin bra...

  "Stop moving, Mr. Brock." She darted a quick glance up from the lens and amusement was dancing in her eyes. "Just look at the car if you can't stand looking at me."

  "Sorry, darlin," I muttered.

  She snapped a few more shots and then looks down at her display. "I think I got what I wanted," she said, teetering to a stand. I reached out to steady her and she sniffed at me. "But if we're going to be working together the next few days, I want to clear something right up, okay Mr. Brock?" She slipped her arm free and planted a hand on her hip. "This is business only. You can call me Monique, if you'd like. But I'm not your darlin', your babe, or your sweetheart. You get me?"

  "Wait, I never once called you babe," I protested.

  She blinked at me, slowly, like a cat. "Pre-emptive strike. Just in case."

  I felt heat flare at the back of my neck. "Very well, Miss Williams," I hissed. "Strictly business."

  She nodded and slid back into the still waiting Towne Car, then rolled down the window. "Shall I meet you at the house?"

  Still seething, I squinted up at the sun and then looked down at my wrist. "Seein' as we're all business here, I'd say no. Quittin' time's five o'clock and I’ll be back up to the house well past that. Sleep well, Miss Williams."

  I could hear her sputtering and hissing as I walked away, but I didn't care. She wanted to make this difficult and awkward? Fine, two can play that game.

  I hopped the fence and mounted Falcon in time to enjoy the sight of Miss Williams's driver trying to reverse back up my narrow half a mile drive. It made me feel marginally better. I'd survived Monique Williams's death stare. For now.

  I just had to get through tomorrow.

  Chapter Seven

  Monique

  That arrogant son of a bitch....

  I've met some cocky celebrities in my day, but none of them pissed me off more than Tanner Brock. I saw right through his little games. It killed me that I had to try and play nice. The frustration that built up inside of me had nowhere to go.

  Until now.

  The front-desk clerk was bearing the full brunt of my pent-up wrath. "What the hell do you mean, one night's stay?!"

  "Sorry ma'am, we only have you down for tonight," the pimply-faced kid behind the counter squeaked. He barely looked old enough to have hit puberty much less old enough to work.

  "Then book me for another night then," I seethed, pinching the bridge of my nose and closing my eyes.

  But when I closed my eyes, the image of Tanner Brock's cock bulging against his tight, low-slung Wranglers sprang into view.

  I snapped my eyes back open again to see Mr. Acne's pasted on smile fading a bit. Perhaps I could smite him with my gaze? That would help my mood. I narrowed my eyes at him.

  "Ma'am, I'm sorry," he squeaked, looking slightly scorched, "but we are all booked up."

  "You're kidding me, right?" I exploded. "How in the hell do that many people want to stay in this backwater hellhole at once?"

  "Rodeo's in town, ma'am."

  A little ball of pain exploded in my brain. "Of course it is," I exhaled, shaking my head. "Well, where else is there to stay that's semi-nearby?"

  "Nearest hotel is in Holcum. That's a good..."

  "Fifty minutes away," I finished for him. That burst of exploding pain in my brain settled into a dull, resigned ache.

  Pimple looked shocked. "Yes ma'am, you've vacationed here before?"

  "No one 'vacations' here. I had the misfortune of living here," I explosively sighed, then waited as the wheels in his rabbity little brain turned around, taking in my dark skin and my designer clothes. His embarrassment made his acne flame even redder and I suddenly wasn't interested in smiting him anymore, I was just too damn tired to deal with it. "Never mind that then, can you book me in Holcum for tomorrow night?"

  "Let me see what I can do." He seemed relieved to be allowed to scamper away.

  I waved to the driver who was still waiting patiently. I didn't know how he dealt with the boredom, frankly. "Change of plans," I told him.

  Once I went over the itinerary three times; pick me up here, let me pack my bags in the trunk for an extra huge tip, take me to Tanner's, pick me back up again and drive me out to Holcum, I went back inside. Pimple was positively beaming at me.

  "All set ma'am. I transferred your reservation to the Inn in Holcum." He looked so proud of himself, like he expected me to fall over with gratitude and then bake him some cookies.

  I wasn't in the mood. "Yeah, great, can I get my room key now?"

  He deflated somewhat, but scampered around and grabbed my bags anyway and I was glad I had spared his life. After all, it wasn't his fault that Clara had clearly messed something up in booking me. Smiting her would be a hell of a lot more satisfactory anyway.

  The room was clean looking, at least. The moment I sat down on the bed, the exhaustion that had been nipping at my heels all day caught up with me. I tossed my clothes over the desk chair and pulled out my pajamas. A brief toilette and I was under the covers, not caring that it was still dusk outside. I waited for sleep to come, listening to the silence and waiting for the familiar lump to settle in my throat.

  Loneliness.

  It came like clockwork, always waiting for me whenever I was quiet long enough for it to creep in unwanted.

  I tried not to allow myself too many of these quiet moments. Because when I did, the longing crept in. It was something I couldn't quite put a name to, a feeling of sadness that I always tried to bluster my way through. Sometimes I disguised it as anger, sometimes as sarcasm. Other people might be fooled, but I never was.

  Living like a gypsy taught me that your home was never tied to a place, it was tied to a feeling. I thought I had found it with my job at Auteur magazine and the group of girlfriends I was cultivating, but try as I might, I could never hold on to that feeling for long.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and did the mind-clearing exercise I had done since I was a kid. I visualized the gates of my mind opening wide and tried to picture the blue sky with puffy clouds behind it. It was usually enough to buy me enough peace for sleeping.

  But blue skies led me to brown rolling hills and brown rolling hills led me to fences and fences led me to tanned, toned torsos...and Tanner fucking Brock.

  Or, more specifically, Tanner fucking Brock's bulging cock.

  Poetry.

  When I tried to wrench my mind away from the cock, my mind instead forced me to relive, in vivid detail, the way his torso rippled as he struck the nail with the hammer, the way his shoulders bunched as he shoved his hands nervously in his pockets. The way his thighs bulged, straining against the faded fabric of his well filled out jeans....

  Sighing with frustrated desire, I tried to push those images out of my brain, only to inadvertently invite that bulging cock back the forefront of my mind's eye.

  I moaned, and roll to the side, punching my pillow. A throbbing ache had taken up residence between my legs. "He's an arrogant prick," I told myself out loud.

  Prick.

  Cock.

  Dammit!

  And I forgot my vibrator. Of course.

  The thought of my vibrator made me moan in frustration again. My last date had been the creepy shoe-stealing fetishist so that had been a wash. I tried to think back. The last man I had been with was clearly forgettable enough to require several moments of recollection. Ah yes, the barista. His dreads had smelled filthy, like a mixture of new coffee and old sweat. The low point of my loneliness in a new city. Since then, I had replaced the batteries in my vibrator more times than I could count.

  But tonight, I didn't want the imitation, I wanted the real thing.

  I've never been with a white guy before, and by the look
of those tight jeans, my first time wouldn't be disappointing at all. Something about the way he held my ankle in his grasp...the way he caressed my skin on the sly. As if I wouldn't notice his touch thrilling through me, sending sparks up my spine that defied rational thought.