The Breaker (Erotic Country #1.)

by Lucy Watt

  LUCY WATT

  The Breaker

  Erotic Country

  BOOK ONE

  Text copyright © 2013

  All rights reserved by the author.

  Cover design by

  mixit.shootit.makeit@gmail.com

  Dedication

  For my Poppa Smurf

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  THE BREAKER’S EX - SAMPLE CHAPTER ONE

  ‘You’re a bastard,’ she seethed, through ragged breaths.

  ‘Not always,’ he muttered into her ear, still breathing heavily and inhaling the scent off her neck. She felt the hardness in the front of his jeans press against her and she knew she was in trouble.

  Big trouble …

  CHAPTER ONE

  Sophie made her way to the rickety table underneath the flame tree where the station hands usually had lunch. She winced as she sat and poured a cuppa from the dented aluminium teapot. After mustering a couple of decks of steers off the property, her backside was numb, despite the cold shower she’d just had. But at least she felt fresh, in a clean pair of faded blue jeans and one of her dad’s old work shirts – it was too big for her and had to be tied at her navel with the sleeves rolled up. Her light brown hair, still wet from the shower, was brushed back into a ponytail. She looked up at the cover of red flowers overhead, which seemed too pretty for the filthy mob of men sitting beneath it.

  Next to her old Sam, one of the station hands, dunked a biscuit into his tea, shoved the whole soggy thing into his mouth and reached for another one. He stank of cow dung and clothes that hadn’t been washed for a week. Mick the mechanic sat on the opposite bench seat, laughing and comparing hangovers with the two young cow hands, Pete and Paul, Liz, the children’s portly nanny, reached for the teapot and found it empty. She frowned and looked around towards the house. Nance Carney, the boss’s wife, placed a fresh pot on the table. Up the other end, Jim, the foreman, showed a pile of papers to the new horse-breaker.

  The big guy kept his eyes down and gave the occasional nod beneath the rim of a broad black hat. Sophie could only see the lower half of his face. His jaw was strong, his skin tanned and freshly shaved. His arms were folded and his large, calm hands didn’t move. The only other gesture from him was an occasional pursing of his mouth.

  When the plate of sandwiches arrived everyone dived in as though it would be their last meal. Sophie’s line of sight was interrupted. As people filled their plates and settled into lunch, she stole another look down the table.

  She’d been intensely aware of the new guy since he’d stepped out of a black ute at first light this morning. His clothes and hat told her that he came from the land. But the backyard tattoos on his large hands were from a different world. The heavy calluses on his knuckles were not usual either. There was something dark and yet compelling about him.

  He sat quietly, as though not wanting to be noticed. An unfriendly vibe radiated from him, making everyone at the normally noisy table a little uncomfortable. When he broke his stillness to drain what was left in his cup, his eyes caught Sophie’s and she hurriedly looked down. But in the instant when her eyes had connected with his, she saw coldness there. His face, with its large, rugged features, was laced with something mean. She didn’t dare look up again, but she felt his eyes run over her. For some reason that gave her the shivers, and her breath became uneven. She closed her hands more tightly around her mug of tea when she felt them tremble slightly. Whoa. This guy was a hard-arse. He was intimidating.

  But he was also smoking hot.

  She exhaled slowly and kept her eyes down. It had been too long between men for her. They were few and far between on this huge cattle station; clingy, egotistical, too old or just plain ugly. Stoneleigh Station was also a very small community if things went wrong. Privacy was rarely an option.

  Up to this point, Sophie hadn’t cared. She would rather take care of herself. She didn’t want all the complications and insecurities that came with a relationship. Some called her a ball-breaker. So what? She liked being her own person – answerable to no one, in charge of her own life.

  ‘They prison tatts, mate?’ said Pete, in a voice tinged with awe.

  The table went quiet and everyone stared at the guy’s hands.

  The breaker’s eyes lifted slowly and scanned the people at the table. They stopped at the kid with a flash of ire that warned him not to continue.

  ‘What were you in for?’ asked the other kid, Paul, oblivious to the breaker’s cold glare. The atmosphere at the small outback homestead became edgy.

  The breaker turned his eyes to Paul and Sophie watched the young man squirm in his seat as he ran his eyes over the size of the older man’s arms. Rope-like veins ran over those muscled forearms, across the wrists and large hands.

  Realising his mistake, Paul bleated out a quiet, ‘Sorry.’

  The breaker nodded, then stood and looked at his watch. He was tall, heavy-set and looked strong enough to lift a horse. He left the table without a word. Sophie watched him walk to his ute. From the back he lifted two stock saddles and sat them on his hip, one on top of the other. With the other hand, he pulled out a tangle of bridles and straps and slung them over his shoulder. He walked to the horse shed.

  ‘Arrogant prick,’ mumbled Mick.

  ‘Doesn’t say much,’ said Liz, sounding unimpressed.

  ‘Give him a break,’ said Jim. ‘He’s just done four years.’

  ‘So, what was he in for?’ Mick said. ‘If you don’t mind me asking.’

  ‘Not the kind of guy you want to upset, put it that way,’ said Jim. And that’s all he said. He stood and made his way back to the yards, where more cattle waited to be tagged. He looked over his shoulder. ‘Back to work, hey?’

  There were weary sighs and the scraping of chairs as the team rose from their seats. Liz helped Nancy gather the dirty cups and plates and stack them onto trays.

  Sophie made her way to the shed where she’d left her horse to cool down. She’d give him a hose off, then saddle up a fresh one before joining Jim at the yards to help draft out any underweight steers.

  Tomorrow she would start breaking in the yearlings with this new guy. Why they employed a second horse-breaker was a mystery. She had been doing the job for the last three years without incident. She couldn’t help feeling this guy was stepping on her turf. On top of that, he struck her as a misogynist kind of bastard.

  If he thought he was dealing with some girly pushover, he was wrong. She could buck out a horse as well as any bloke. She could break it in and have it riding on a muster within a week. Horses were her thing. Always had been. Having the honour of starting some of the best stock horses in Australia was a job she wasn’t about to hand over to the first beefcake in wranglers that came along.

  He was the newcomer and he’d have to start by doing things her way, even if he was six foot four and built like a Clydesdale. She made her way to the horse shed, determined to set things straight with him from the onset.

  * * * * *

  All horse business went on under a large iron-roofed shed with open sides and a frame of timber that had been cut from trees on the property. The floor was earthen and cool and Sophie loved the smell of horses and cattle that always wafted through on summer afternoons.

  Several horses stood in the open stalls, their backs sticky with saddle sweat from the morning muster, tails swishing at the relent
less flies. Sophie reached for the youngster she’d ridden that morning and noticed the new guy leaning on the steel rails of the round yard, eyeing a dozen or so yearlings. The gate creaked as she opened it, startling her horse. The new guy didn’t turn or acknowledge her. This would be good. How was she going to work with a man who was surly and rude? Never mind the fact that he was fresh out of prison.

  She ignored the horse’s jumpiness and unclipped it from the cross ties. As she led it through the gateway it scraped its hip on the latch. The horse, which had only weeks of handling on it, panicked and catapulted out of the stall, shying violently and reefing the reins from her hands. She tried to run with it, but it reared over backwards, then scrambled to its feet and bolted towards the yearlings in the round yard.

  The new guy turned slowly, saw the colt and walked to the middle of the aisle, blocking its path. Sophie stood blocking her end and waited while he walked over, calmly took it by the reins and ran a hand over its neck. It instantly relaxed and he led it back towards her. But rather than hand the colt back, he walked past as though she wasn’t there. He led it in and out of the stall a few times until it did so calmly, and then handed the reins back to her.

  ‘He caught his hip,’ she tried to explain.

  It was the first time she had dared look into his eyes. They were dark, almost black, and set behind thick lashes; the kind that made a girl’s heart beat a little faster. But behind them lurked something cold and menacing. He gave her a calculating stare and then moved his eyes questioningly to the horse.

  ‘Did I break him in?’ she clarified. Her voice took on an annoyingly high pitch.

  He nodded.

  ‘Yeah, but he …’

  He lifted his chin towards the gate as though she should go back and lead the horse through it herself. There was no warmth in his gestures. He was bad-tempered, rude and Sophie instantly bristled.

  ‘You’re not my boss, mate,’ she said. ‘I don’t care who you are or what prison you just got out of.’

  She looked straight into those dark eyes and saw hatred in them. Then he dropped his gaze to her chest. The look was belittling, enough for her to want to slap him. Hard. He lifted his eyes again and gave her a challenging stare.

  She glared back. ‘You got a name?’ Arsehole.

  He reached down and she was alarmed when he took hold of her arm. His hands were strong and surprisingly gentle, so unlike his eyes. He led her to the steel cattle rail that made the round yard fence. Then he lifted her hand, folded her fingers into her palm and guided her pointer finger over the dusty rail, tracing the name BRETT into the dust.

  At least the Neanderthal could spell his own name. She moved her hand beneath his and wrote SOPHIE. Then she ripped her hand away, uneasy with how quickly he had taken control of her.

  He looked at her again, this time with a face that was less threatening.

  ‘Don’t you speak?’ she asked, confused.

  When he didn’t answer, she figured the answer was no.

  ‘Can you hear?’ Maybe he was deaf.

  He looked her up and down slowly, running his eyes over her legs, above her belt buckle at her navel, which was peeking out under the tie at the front of her shirt. She cursed herself for leaving it buttoned so low when his eyes again rested hungrily on her chest. Somehow she knew there was nothing wrong with his cock.

  ‘You’re a rude prick,’ she said, as she turned away from him.

  To her alarm, he stepped towards her and ran a hand through her hair. He took a chunk of it and pulled her head back, making her gasp. In one easy movement he twisted her around and pushed her hips against a feed drum, pressing himself into her bum and holding her in a firm grasp. He breathed menacingly in her ear. The stubble on his chin brushed her neck. His voice made her shiver as he spoke through clenched teeth. ‘You be careful, Sophie. I haven’t had a woman for a long time and your arse is looking pretty good right now.’

  ‘Touch my arse and I’ll scream this building down,’ she said through gritted teeth. Who the hell did this guy think he was? The anger inside her made her want to punch him in the face. But the heat between her legs made her want to do quite the opposite.

  He ran his nose and lips up her neck and inhaled deeply. Her body gave an involuntary shiver and she felt the corners of his mouth curl into a sardonic smile. His hand reached around her waist and she was horrified when he started unbuckling her belt. In seconds he had her jeans half way down her bum. He took hold of her pink knickers and pulled them until they sliced neatly between her cheeks. ‘Scream and those two young fellas will come in and see your sex-blessed arse staring at them. Do you want that, Sophie?’

  ‘You’re a bastard,’ she seethed through ragged breaths.

  ‘Not always,’ he muttered into her ear, still breathing heavily and inhaling the scent off her neck. She felt the hardness in the front of his jeans push against her and knew she was in trouble. Big trouble.

  His free hand slipped into the front of her panties and one finger parted her swollen lips. She nearly died of embarrassment at how wet she was, and could barely suppress a groan when his finger ran over her clit and began slowly circling. Oh man, that was cruel. She tried to keep control of her breath, which now sounded more like panting. Her eyes closed without her telling them to. His finger kept massaging before sliding further down and pushing inside her.

  ‘Get. Out,’ she managed to croak through a confused mix of fury and ecstasy. Slowly he brought his hand back out and the pressure of his cock against her arse eased.

  She felt suddenly emotional. ‘That was totally without consent,’ she whispered, her head spinning. Her core was throbbing and something amazing pumped through every vein in her body.

  ‘No, it wasn’t,’ he answered in a cold and calm voice. With his fist still wrapped in her hair and holding her head back in a tight grip, he brought his glistening finger to her lips and slowly ran it around her mouth. She could taste her own arousal on him. In her twenty-five years, no one had ever done that to her before.

  ‘Let me go,’ she choked out.

  The moment he loosened his grip, she spun around and smacked her fist so hard into his mouth that she thought every knuckle in her hand would break. His head reeled back and his hand flew to his jaw. ‘How dare you touch me like that!’ she hissed, pulling up her jeans and zipping them with shaking hands.

  Brett snatched for her wrist and held it tight to stop her from punching him again. He glared at her as he pushed her back against the wall and she noticed his lip was bleeding. Then he stunned her again by placing his lips over hers, kissing her long and deep until she could barely stand. His hand ran up the back of her neck and through her hair. His lips were full and hungry, pushing into hers until it nearly hurt, splitting her mouth open and running his tongue over hers. Her mouth responded even though she begged it not to, pushing back into his kiss. Then he pulled at her lower lip and broke away, eyes smouldering into hers, leaving her fighting for breath.

  ‘If you want to continue this, I sleep with my door unlocked,’ he said in an even voice. ‘But right now, I have other fillies to break.’

  He calmly zipped her jeans back up and re-buckled her belt while she stood, swallowing and blinking and gaping at him.

  Every part of her wanted to grab him by the face and pull him back, rip his shirt off and explore every part of him. She wanted to throw him on his back, straddle him and pound herself stupid on him. Instead, she set her jaw hard and turned to ice. ‘Touch me like that again and I’ll have you thrown straight back into prison.’

  ‘Door’s open,’ he repeated, and walked off to the yard full of young horses without looking back.

  Man, the arrogance!

  It was such a turn on.

  * * * * *

  Sophie staggered through the rest of the day, riding and training three freshly broke horses in the cattle yards. She was still wet and sensitive, rubbing in the saddle with every step the horse made. Every time she throbbed she thought of Br
ett’s hand down her pants, his breath on his neck and goosebumps ran up her arms and the back of her neck. How did he get such control of her so quickly? What if someone had walked in?

  If she wasn’t so completely on fire, she wouldn’t have believed what had just happened had actually happened. He had violated her. She could go straight to Jim and tell him what happened. He’d be sacked on the spot. Probably be thrown straight back into prison. Where he clearly belonged.

  And then she would never see him again. He would never touch her like that again. She would never get a chance to take that further. Four years he’d served, Jim had said, and he hadn’t been with a woman since he got out?

  He must be horny as hell.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Sophie got back to the horse shed just before dark. Brett already had three yearlings side-lined. Ropes ran around the base of their necks, went back and looped around one hind foot. All three horses stood in their yards with one hind leg tied up, unable to move.

  So he did things the old-fashioned way, with ropes and force. Why didn’t that surprise her? Somehow he didn’t strike her as the sensitive type who was into ‘gentling’ and ‘starting’ them. She watched, out of the corner of her eye. The horses seemed calm and accepting. They didn’t fight the restraints. Maybe they were smart. He untied the rope from each horse’s back legs, then from around their necks, and spent a moment rubbing each one down. He had a way with them that was persuasive, but not overly cruel.

  But none of them had challenged him yet. He’d picked the quietest three, she noticed. She had worked with those horses six months ago, and she knew that they were the most submissive of the mob. Had he known that too, she wondered, just by watching them? Would he hold his temper if one challenged him? Would he have the skill to bring them around, or would he use brute force. He seemed strong enough to throw a horse on the ground with his bare hands.