“Did you know the Leather Master doesn’t even have a website?” Jordan said to Rylee before clicking on the video. “That’s a customer just waiting for Mindful Web Designs, right?”
Mindful Web Designs was Rylee’s small but surprisingly successful internet business. Though she’d been offered a fulltime job coaching the swim team at the local college, she hadn’t wanted to give up the freedom of working for herself, especially since she’d begun to earn pretty good money with a steadily growing and apparently satisfied clientele.
“Really?” she replied, incredulous. “You’re kidding, right? Is it even possible to run your own business these days without an internet presence? No wonder the guy’s on the road so much.”
“I kid you not,” Jordan said solemnly. “The Leather Master is a real throwback. I really had to do a hard sell just to get him to do this video.”
Rylee’s mind veered at once to the possibilities. What a great opportunity not only to snag a new customer who produced items near and dear to her heart, but also a way to get back into the Leather Master’s life.
In the week since they’d done the shoot, Rylee had thought of little but Taggart Fitzgerald. She’d been so excited after the shoot, walking on air at the thought of their getting together. Before leaving his place Sunday night, the two of them had exchanged phone numbers. She had kept her cell phone at her side, even while sleeping, but the guy hadn’t texted or called. Though she could just as easily have been the one to make the initial contact, for some reason she wanted it to be him.
Yet, as the week progressed and she didn’t hear a word, Rylee’s spirits plummeted. Refusing to give in to what was surely just an infatuation, she told herself she didn’t care. The guy was just another self-centered jerk, another “I’ll call you tomorrow” one-night stand loser. She was lucky to have avoided getting involved with him.
But she knew she was lying. And Marco knew it too.
Maybe she’d misread the whole situation, so jazzed from the flogging that she’d thought he was interested in her. After all, a guy like that could have his pick of women in the scene, and probably did.
“Okay,” Jordan said, jerking her out of her brooding thoughts. “See what you think. I made two videos, one just a three-minute teaser—that’s what we’ll post on BDSMConnections, and then there’s a link to a thirty-minute full demo on my site. Once you get Taggart’s site up and running, we can put it there, too.”
“Uh huh,” Rylee said noncommittally.
They watched the longer of the two videos first. It was strange to see herself being flogged—to witness her own reactions and hear her moans and sighs. She felt herself blushing a little as the three of them peered at the laptop screen, but both Jordan and Marco seemed perfectly at ease, so she relaxed too.
As promised, Jordan had blurred out her frontal image in the mirror, capturing only the Leather Master’s graceful, elegant movements as the flogger landed, stroking her body like an extension of his hand. She saw her initial tension, and then the slow easing into the scene. As she watched, an intense longing washed over her, not only for the experience, but for the man who had given it to her. Before she could stop herself, a long, deep sigh escaped her lips.
“I told you, Master Jordan,” Marco said. “The girl’s got it bad.”
“What?” she said, instantly on the defensive.
Marco grinned. “You want that man. And who can blame you? Shit, if I weren’t already gay, Taggart Fitzgerald would be enough to turn me.”
In spite of herself, Rylee laughed.
“Down, boy,” Jordan said, though he, too, was smiling.
“Seriously, Rylee,” Marco persisted. “I want to see you with a good guy. You deserve a real Dom.”
The lingering evil spirit of Simon the Asshole loomed suddenly between them, but Rylee shook it away.
Jordan nodded. “I agree. There was definitely something going on between the two of you during that demo. So, when are you going to get together?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t heard from him,” Rylee admitted miserably.
“You have a phone. Text the guy,” Marco retorted. “He said he wanted to scene again, right? He’s probably just been busy.”
“Maybe,” Rylee said skeptically, but she couldn’t deny a sudden rush of hope.
“I have an idea,” Jordan interjected. “Why don’t you drop off the flash drive? I was going to email it, but a personal delivery would be better.”
“Great idea!” Marco said enthusiastically.
Jordan looked at Rylee. “I’ll shoot him a quick text, yes? Tell him my assistant is dropping off the video. Does that work for you? If you’re not comfortable doing this, just say so. Don’t let us bully you into something you’re not up for.”
Rylee sat up straight. She was done with mooning around like a pathetic teenager. “Do it,” she said emphatically.
A half-hour later, Rylee stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom, critically evaluating herself, categorizing her assets and her flaws. Should she dress up for the guy in something sexy, or just be herself?
“Listen to you,” she said to her image in the mirror. “You’re acting like you’re going on a date with the guy. You’re just dropping off a video.”
Which reminded Rylee, she was supposed to text him to let him know when she was coming. Moving to the bed, she plopped down on the mattress and reached for her phone from the night table. She had added Taggart Fitzgerald to her contacts and now she typed his name into the text message header.
“On your mark, get set…” she muttered as she typed: “Hi, Taggart. This is Rylee Miller. I have Jordan’s video. Let me know a good time to drop it off.”
She hit the send button and then blew out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She stared at the screen, willing the Leather Master to respond. Her heart kicked up a notch when she saw the little dots moving that indicated he was responding. A second later the message appeared.
“Rylee? I thought Marco was going to bring it by.”
Rylee’s heart sank.
Then she saw he was typing again.
“I’m not home right now. I’m over at the ranch in Beaverton where I keep my horse. Maybe you’d like to stop by there? Do you like horses? Can you ride?”
Rylee thumbed back a rapid response. “Not since summer camp, but I always enjoyed it. Where’s the ranch?”
He texted back the address and directions.
Rylee did a quick check on her smart phone map and replied, “I can be there in about thirty minutes, assuming I don’t get lost.”
“Wear your riding boots, if you have them. I’ll be waiting.”
Rylee let out a whoop.
Tossing the cell phone aside, she jumped up and reached for her jeans, her clothing decision made for her. She had to dig to the back of her closet to find the old red cowboy boots she’d had since high school. They still fit like an old glove, the leather broken in from her freshman year in college, when she’d worn them just about every day.
At her front door, she took the ancient but beloved brown leather bomber jacket that had once been her father’s from its hook and headed out, butterflies of excitement in her belly. She’d nearly made it to her car when she stopped in her tracks.
“Oh, shit!” she exclaimed.
Rushing back into the building, she sprinted up the stairs to her apartment and hurriedly unlocked the front door. Bursting into the room, she raced to the kitchen and grabbed the small envelope containing the flash drive from the counter.
Nearly an hour later, Rylee finally saw the large, hand-painted sign tacked above an open gate that read: Lucky Horseshoe Ranch. In spite of Taggart’s directions and her GPS, Rylee had still made one or two wrong turns along the winding, unmarked country roads.
Her heart gave a lurch as she pulled up in front of a building and saw Taggart standing there talking to another man. Taggart had his hand on the mane of a tall, imposing black mare. The other guy held the reins
on a chestnut stallion with a white star on its forehead.
They both turned to watch her as she climbed out of the car. Taggart smiled, laugh lines radiating from his deep-set eyes. “Hey there, I was about to text you in case you got lost. These roads can be a little tricky.”
“I did make a wrong turn or two,” Rylee admitted as she drank in the man. He looked as good as she remembered, tall and broad, dressed in pretty much the same thing he’d been in the week before—a flannel shirt with a T-shirt underneath tucked into a pair of faded jeans. Instead of work boots, however, his feet were shod in shiny black cowboy boots.
“Harlan,” he said, turning toward the guy beside him. “I’d like to introduce a friend of mine, Rylee Miller.”
Harlan appeared to be in his early thirties, though his deeply tanned face was craggy, deep grooves on either side of his mouth. He had blond hair, what she could see of it beneath his large black cowboy hat.
Instead of extending his hand, he doffed his hat. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. Any friend of Taggart Fitzgerald’s is a friend of mine. I understand you’ll be riding Duke today. You a good rider?”
Sliding her gaze to Taggart and then back to Harlan, Rylee said, “It’s been probably fifteen years since I sat on a horse. But I used to be pretty good, I guess.”
“That’s all right, then,” Harlan said with a friendly grin. “It’s like riding a bike. You never forget. And Duke here”—he patted the horse’s huge head—”is gentle as a lamb.”
He turned to Taggart. “You need anything before I get back to it? I got to finish unloading that hay.”
“No, thanks, Harlan. We’re good. I’ll take care of the horses after our ride. We should only be an hour or two.”
As Harlan walked away, Taggart turned to Rylee. “It’s good to see you again.”
“You, too,” Rylee replied, looking down to keep from blurting, “Why the hell didn’t you text or call me?”
As if reading her mind, Taggart added, “Sorry I didn’t get in touch this week. It’s been a crazy time. I’ve got a demonstration in Seattle tomorrow and I’ve been really busy trying to get some new pieces done.” He shrugged apologetically, adding, “I kind of lose track of time when I’m in the creative process.”
Rylee affected a breezy air as she tossed back her hair. “Oh, no worries. I’ve been really busy too with my website business.” She almost pulled a card from the wallet in her pocket, but stopped herself. Sales pitches could come later. “I wish there were more hours in the day.”
And I’ve been obsessing about you for most of them.
“I’m glad you had the time to come out to the ranch. When I’m not in my workshop or on the road, this is where you’ll find me.”
“This is your horse?” Rylee nodded toward the black mare, who stared patiently back at her with large, intelligent brown eyes.
“Yep. And I’m her human.” He flashed a grin. “I don’t have the space, obviously, to keep Mabel in Portland. She used to stay on our ranch, which was only a mile or so down the road from here.”
“Your parents are still there?” Rylee queried, wondering why he didn’t keep his horse with them.
Taggart shook his head, a dark look moving over his features like a storm cloud, though when he looked up at her it was gone. “Nah. We don’t have the ranch anymore. My father ran it into the ground after my mother left him.”
“Oh,” Rylee said startled at the revelation, as well as the sudden vehemence in Taggart’s tone. “I’m sorry.”
He barked a laugh, the sound hollow and without mirth. “No, I’m sorry. I’m sure you don’t want to hear about my dysfunctional family. It’s a beautiful day. Let’s do some riding, shall we?” He looked her over. “Nice boots. Do you need a mounting block?”
“No, I don’t think so.” Rylee moved closer to Duke and patted his flank experimentally. He tossed his head and rolled his eyes toward her. “Hey there, Duke. You ready for a ride?” she said gently. She turned back to Taggart. “I think I remember what to do. You use your anchor leg and momentum to propel yourself up, instead of using your arms.”
“Yep. You don’t want to shift the saddle during the mount. It annoys the horse.”
Rylee placed her left foot in the stirrup, her right hand on the saddle. Pushing off with her right leg, she swung herself up and over the horse’s big, sturdy frame. Duke stared into the distance with stoic calm as Rylee hoisted herself over him. Once astride, she slipped her right foot into the stirrup, gripped the horn of the saddle, leaned over Duke’s neck and whispered, “Thank you, boy.”
The saddle was perfect for her, snug without pinching, its leather smooth and shiny. Hugging the horse’s sturdy flanks with her legs, she took the reins, muscle memory of riding from all those years ago setting her at ease on her perch. She experienced a thrill of exhilaration from her high vantage point, the world spread out before her.
She watched as Taggart placed his boot in the stirrup and lifted himself with effortless ease onto the horse’s back. He turned his horse with a flick of the reins and a light touch of his heels and glanced back at her. “Coming?”
Rylee leaned forward over her horse’s neck, “Let’s go, Duke,” she said softly as she touched his sides with the heels of her boots.
With a snort and a toss of his head, Duke began to walk.
Taggart turned toward Rylee. “We’ll head out along the trails and take it slow until you feel comfortable. You look like a natural in the saddle.”
Rylee warmed to Taggart’s praise. “I forgot how awesome this is—being up so high and feeling the horse’s power beneath you.”
Taggart smiled. “It’s an amazing feeling. I’m glad you came out today.”
Rylee realized she was grinning like a monkey, but she was too happy to make herself stop. “Me, too.”
Thank you, Jordan and Marco.
They moved at a comfortable pace in single file along a well-worn trail that wended its way through tall trees. Rylee was surprisingly at ease on the horse beneath her. She enjoyed the sound of the horseshoes clopping along the hard-packed dirt and the twittering birdsong in the trees overhead. The leaves were at their autumnal peak—splashes of vibrant reds, yellows and oranges bright against a deep blue sky.
She watched Taggart’s broad back as he rode on his mare, the two of them moving together with fluid, practiced grace. “What made you name your horse Mabel?” she asked.
Taggart looked back at her. “That was my grandma’s name. She was the one person in my life I could always count on. She died when I was thirteen.” His expression became a little sheepish. “I had taken a course in comparative religions freshman year and I imagined my grandmother’s spirit—her great energy and good-heartedness—was still alive in my horse.”
Rylee laughed, both amused and touched to discover a sentimental side to this man.
The path widened as they came out from the copse of trees, and they moved from a walk to a trot. After a while, they came to an open pasture that stretched several miles toward the snow-capped mountains in the distance.
“What do you say?” Taggart said as Rylee and Duke trotted up beside Taggart and his mare. “You feel comfortable going faster? Both these horses could use some exercise.”
“As long as you pick me up if I fall out of the saddle,” Rylee said with a laugh, though she wasn’t entirely kidding. Still, the day was beautiful and she was eager to feel the wind blowing in her face as she experienced the exhilarating freedom of racing on the back of this powerful, majestic animal.
“It’s a deal,” Taggart replied. “Though I don’t think you’ll have a problem. Like I said, you’re a natural, and Duke is a good boy. He likes you. I can tell.”
Rylee patted Duke’s neck. “I like him, too.”
Taggart pointed to a copse of brilliantly adorned trees in the distance. “Race you to the trees.” All at once, he kicked at Mabel’s sides as he flicked the reins. “Ya!” he cried, and Mabel took off like a comet.
&nbs
p; Rylee’s competitive instincts instantly rose to the fore. Imitating Taggart, she leaned forward, gripping Duke’s reins tight as she kicked his sides. “Ya!” she cried in imitation, and Duke shot forward, nearly unseating her.
Rylee urged him on with gentle pressure against his flanks and a steady hand on the reins. Duke moved quickly from a canter to a gallop, but Taggart was already far ahead.
Rylee laughed aloud for sheer joy as she and Duke pounded over the grass, her heart racing, the wind in her face, her hair flying. She was breathless as she finally slowed Duke to a walk as they approached the trees on the far side of the pasture. Taggart had already dismounted, and Mabel was slurping noisily from what Rylee now saw was a narrow stream flowing alongside the trees.
Taggart lifted his hand to shade his eyes as he watched her approach. “No fair,” Rylee said breathlessly as she brought Duke to a halt. “You got a head start.”
“You’re right,” Taggart admitted with a grin. “I’ll give you a head start when we go back.”
He moved closer and held out his hand. He took most of Rylee’s weight as he helped her out of the saddle. She could already feel the pleasant ache in her muscles, but knew she would probably be sore tomorrow. She ran her fingers through her wind-tangled hair and drew in a breath of the crisp, clear air.
As Rylee led Duke over to stand beside Mabel, Taggart reached into Mabel’s saddlebag and pulled out two bottles of water, one of which he handed to Rylee. As they drank, Rylee watched Taggart’s throat move in his strong, broad neck. His head was back, his eyes closed.
Involuntarily, she took a step closer, drawn by his magnetism. Suddenly hot, and not because of the sun, Rylee slipped out of her leather jacket and dropped it to the grass. The cool air felt good on her arms, but the heat in her loins persisted.
Taggart held out his hand and Rylee started to give him her empty bottle, but instead of taking it, he reached for her, pulling her into his big, strong arms. Leaning down, he covered her mouth with his, his tongue sliding between her lips as he pressed his body against hers.
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