Collared By The Cowboy (Bad Boys)

by Susan Arden

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  “Trying to imagine you fishing. Do you?”

  “I have my own lines. Does that answer your question? There’s a boat and in the summer we fish, ski, swim. You’ll like the place. Easy on the eyes…like you.”

  “Psst,” she whispered. “Heads up. I’m a sure thing for the cottage. You don’t have to try and seduce me.”

  “Girl, you’ve got me scrambling worse than any person I have ever known. The term sure thing and you shouldn’t be placed in same sentence, let alone the same frame of mind.”

  “Am I that bad?” she asked.

  “Not without cause,” he returned. “We both push each other’s boundaries.”

  “I’ll go with that. Speaking of which, you need to go. Don’t you?”

  He pulled her close, one last snuggle. His cock slipped out of her and he lifted her over his body. “Unfortunately the clock doesn’t stop for any of us.”

  She stared down at him with a look of serious concentration. “We need to do something with Esme and Selma.”

  He grimaced. “I can take them to their father. Let him deal with them.”

  “How about if you let me see if they’d agree to treatment? They might.”

  “If they don’t, I’m not giving them their car keys back. They’ll go home to their father. He has to accept that they’re not just going through some sort of phase. This isn’t your problem. I don’t want you to get sucked in.” He picked her up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, then set her on his lap.

  Her eyes lowered. “Trust me, I’m not going to. Not where Riverdale Methodist is concerned.” Mia’s stony tone and the firm set of her jaw seized his attention.

  “You have history with that church?”

  “Never set foot inside. So, no.” She smiled back at him, pressing her forehead to his.

  “So full of yourself,” he grunted and let her go as she lifted herself up and off his body.

  IN the early morning there wasn’t anyone on the floor below, with the exception of Trent and the two young women who Brandon now had the odious task of watching over. He threaded his fingers together with Mia’s, enjoying the surprised spark in her eyes. He led her downstairs and they silently walked hand in hand toward his private hallway. In a chair leaning against the wall, Trent held his phone, texting someone. At their approach he stood up to stretch. “Not a peep from down the hall.”

  “Thanks for hanging around,” Brandon said, happy that Trent had stayed.

  “No problem. Didn’t want there to be any issues.”

  “Let’s hope there aren’t any,” he nodded.

  “There’s fresh coffee at the bar, just made a pot. Want me to grab two cups for your guests?”

  “Probably be helpful. Yep. Meet us down there.”

  Mia smiled up at him. “You act gruff, but you don’t fool me.”

  With Trent gone, he took hold of her and leaned her against the wall. “Have you forgotten last night?”

  “Me and my rear end haven’t,” she moaned. Her phone rang as his mouth ghosted over her jaw. He swallowed the groan overtaking his throat as he pushed up against Mia’s soft body. He settled for kissing her cheekbone then adjusted himself in his pants.

  Impatiently, he listened to her talk to someone about Esme and Selma. That same someone loudly asked Mia, “What’s the last name?”

  She raised her face to him arching a brow at his behavior, and responded to the person on the other end, “Jamison.”

  Her dark eyes glittered in the dimly lit hall, and her ripe lips tempted him to remove the phone from her hand and disconnect the call.

  “Mia,” he groaned. He clenched his jaw, and started to pace up one side of the hall and down the other. No way in hell would he knock on the door and give Esme or Selma the wrong idea. He returned to Mia’s side and sulked like a grouchy kid next to her, leaning his shoulder into the wall.

  “I’m on hold,” she offered.

  “I have an idea of something we can do for sixty seconds.”

  “Sixty seconds. That’s the limit.”

  “Relax for me.” He ran his hands under her tits, cupping and kneading each one. Her nipples sprang to life, erect under his thumbs. “That’s it. God, I want to suck on these beauties. Press my cock between them. I can think of a hundred things I want to do with your tits.”

  She gasped and pushed away from him. “Yes. I’m listening. Sorry.” She narrowed her eyes in his direction and he shrugged, refusing to let go of her free hand.

  He’d already decided they would leave through the private exit and he’d phone Andrew Jamison about his daughters. If the man didn’t do something, Brandon would go to court and get some sort of restraining order to keep Esme and Selma away from the club, not that it would really help the girls. Christ. He closed his eyes at the mess this was becoming. It was one thing to be in denial. But if Jamison ignored his kids, Brandon would lose all respect for the man after this go-round.

  Absentmindedly, he rubbed his thumb over Mia’s fingers, tracing her fingertips. Touching her both soothed him and made the hollowness he carried expand. He hungered for one more moment where they could touch each other without restraint, and maybe she’d agree to take off her clothes next time. His dual desires to push her boundaries and protect her warred within him until his inner turmoil twisted into a knot of confusion in his gut.

  He’d never been one to fuck a woman and then become antsy afterward, wanting something more. This wasn’t his style and it didn’t make sense, other than he needed to have Mia. Completely.

  By next weekend, he planned on having fucked her until he’d had his fill. It sounded savage, even as a private, unspoken sentiment. But damn it, that was one of the first things he’d learned about desensitization when working with subs. It was like wanting something forbidden. There was only one way to break that type of desire, and it was to overindulge. Smooth the ragged edges of his craving until finally, he’d be the master of his desires.

  Mia lowered her arm and swung around, and he lifted off the wall. “What’s the verdict?”

  “They’re being admitted as we speak. I pressed the point that the girls were electing treatment, which means a lot to the center. Did you know they’ve been in several other treatment facilities over the last three years?”

  “Besides the last time, when they sideswiped my car, I didn’t know. Can’t say I’m surprised, though.”

  “I don’t know all the details, but it seems that this is habitual and it’s getting worse. Much, much worse.”

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “We need to talk to them and get them to agree to seek treatment.”

  “Wait. We? I don’t think I should be involved. They’ve got some weird fixation on me.”

  “Inadvertently, it’s what is getting them off the streets tonight. I don’t know a lot about them, but I think they see you as a lifeline.”

  He held his hands out in front of him. “That’s not how they view me.”

  She cocked her head. “Why, because they show up here a lot?”

  He raked his fingers through his hair, uncertain what to say, then decided Mia would understand. “They make it a habit to fling around suggestions. Not just in words.”

  “Like what?”

  He inhaled and shoved his hands down into his front pockets. “At one point, on a daily basis, they’d send …photographs. Of themselves. I blocked their numbers. And worse, they flash their body parts like it’s nothing.”

  “They’re acting out in a provocative manner. You know, they probably sense you’re one of the few men who won’t respond. It makes you safe territory in a very strange way, but you have to remember that sometimes that’s how people function when pushed to their limits. And they constantly test the boundaries, so it makes it difficult to reach out to them. I get it.”

  His muscles tensed. “I don’t feel comfortable with it, and that makes it hard for me to be sympathetic to them.”


  Mia sighed, curling her fingers around his arm, and one corner of her full mouth lifted. “Of course it is. It’s part of their issue. They need treatment and therapy. Come on.”

  Trent walked over to them carrying two cups of steaming coffee.

  An hour later, they were able to successfully convince Esme and Selma to enter treatment. It had taken him, Mia and Trent to reason with the girls, even resorting to threats—mostly coming from him—and cajoling, which Mia excelled at.

  “I’ll go get their stuff,” he said before the twins changed their mind. He came back from Marty’s office with the plastic bag containing their belongings. He removed their shoes from the bag but kept their keys and money to give to the treatment center.

  “I can drive,” Trent offered. Brandon noticed the young man who’d worked for him for the last year was paying special attention to Selma.

  That wasn’t his concern at the moment. He made a mental note to speak with Trent, caution him to some degree. Right now, he was grateful that Trent had an SUV and Selma and Esme had agreed to the plan, as long as Brandon accompanied them and promised he’d come and visit.

  “I visited the last time,” he protested then with Mia’s pointed stare, he softened his tone. “This is for your own good. Make us proud.”

  “We will,” Esme sniffled. And then the waterworks began to spread, and Selma caterwauled, stuttering out an apology to him. He pushed up his hat, unsure what to do, and looked to Mia for help. She stepped in with hugs and tissues. He decided the best thing he could do was keep his trap shut. By late morning, the twins were admitted and settling into the treatment center, and the counselor had made an appointment with their father.

  Out in the corridor, while they waited to say goodbye to the girls, Brandon tried to avoid overhearing the call made to Jamison by the counselor and the caseworker. But given they were seated only feet away from the counselor’s office, it was impossible to miss when the pastor yelled and launched into a shitload of excuses over the speaker phone. The man tried to gloss over this latest incident as nothing more than part of his daughters’ ongoing rebellion.

  The counselor rebutted the minister’s denial with one indisputable act. She had in front of her the girls’ treatment files and a four-year addiction history through insurance claims. The counselor had no problem cutting to the issue at hand and refused to support the minister in his turning-this-over-to-God approach, nor would she accept his intention to place it in the hands of one of his prayer groups as a satisfactory solution. The counselor and caseworker finished the phone call, finally extracting a commitment from Mr. Jamison in which he would attend the first counseling session, and the hall quieted down.

  Brandon tipped up his hat and looked over to Mia. “Not hard to understand why those girls are the way they are.”

  “Or hard to understand why you haven’t tossed in the towel where they’re concerned,” Mia returned, threading their fingers together, and then smiled glancing down the hall.

  The twins had entered the corridor, and he leaned over to the counselor’s doorway. “Looks like we need to sound the alarm to hold it down inside.” He knocked on the door and the counselor peeked out. “The girls are coming. Thought you might want to know.”

  “We’re done. Thanks,” the woman said and joined them in the hall.

  “We’ve come to say goodbye,” Selma said, holding hands with Esme. They were dressed in clean clothing the center had provided and held out their arms in Brandon’s direction.

  “I believe you can make this work. Can you try to give it a chance?” he asked them.

  The girls glanced at each other, then swung their gazes back to him. “We promise.”

  “Yeah. We will,” Esme said.

  The twins turned to Mia. “Thank you. If it weren’t for you, we’d be in a bad place right now.”

  “I’ll be by tomorrow,” she said.

  “Really?” Selma’s eyes widened and for a second, she seemed to let drop her usual cockiness as a glimmer of an unsure young woman peeked out.

  “I’m involved with another women’s counseling group here. Would you like to try that? Both of you?”

  “We’ll think about it…let you know when we see you next.” Esme beamed.

  Trent held out his hand. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.” Selma flushed and Esme pulled her sister away. They walked to the end of the hall, stopped and waved, then with a quick turn disappeared around the corner.

  TRENT dropped them back at the S & L and then drove off, but not before he asked Mia her thoughts on him visiting the girls. “Give them a week and then call,” she suggested.

  The cleaning crews were inside the club, and Brandon imagined Mia was missing out on class or work. “I’ll call you,” he said when they stood next to her car.

  “I’ll see you in a couple of days. Be good.”

  “I’m not the one who needs a reminder to behave,” he pushed her back against the car. In the daylight, amber flecks were visible in the depths of her dark eyes. “You’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  “Then come back to me soon.”

  “Kiss me.”

  She glanced around and inhaled a breath, then pulled on the collar of his shirt, bringing his face close to hers. Closing her eyes, she pressed her mouth to his lips. Her kiss was warm, wet, and sweet, and ended far too quickly.

  “I’ll be back just to get another one of those,” he said hoarsely. He opened her door and held her hand as she lowered herself onto the seat. Once again he stood and watched her drive off, this time wondering what part of him she took with her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Brandon’s younger brother, Rory, joined him in the barn as he studied Rebellion’s movements within the indoor ring. “He looks meaner than usual. Might be my imagination, but I doubt it,” Brandon said, leaning his arms over the railing. “How’d he do while I was gone?”

  Rory scratched the side of his face. “I taped his ankle and kept an eye on how he’s bearing his weight. Something’s definitely up.”

  “Let’s hope not.” Brandon rapped his knuckles on the side of wood railing. “Might be he’s got an abscess.”

  “You gonna let him trot a spell?” Rory asked, walking alongside Brandon.

  “More like walk. Let’s do it. I’ll be gone come this Thursday.”

  Rory handed him a coil of rope. “That business with the breeders’ association?”

  “Naw. After they found the paperwork we submitted, they simmered down. I’m taking some personal days. Think you can handle this place while I’m gone?” Brandon tied a loop in the end of the rope then swung it around his head effortlessly until the rope and his arm moved in fluid symmetry. He and Rory worked together just as they’d done in roping competitions when they were younger. He released the rope when Rory forced Rebellion to change directions, and smoothly hooked the loop around Rebellion’s neck.

  “Got him,” Rory snarled. “He’s giving you a run for you money.”

  Brandon gritted his teeth and dug in his heels into the dirt when the horse reared up without warning. Once Rebellion simmered down, he held out the rope to Rory. “Hold this. That horse is in a foul mood.”

  Rory tugged, cinching the rope so that Rebellion couldn’t get loose. “What’s the word in Paris?”

  “Not much,” he replied, picking up a guideline. Brandon relaxed his body and his gait as he approached the stubborn mule of a horse.

  “That’s bullshit if I ever heard a load,” his younger brother snorted.

  Brandon ignored Rory, focusing on the horse and his stance. Rebellion shifted his weight on his front legs. This should have been the point when his horse from hell pawed the ground and looked for a way to bite or kick Brandon. He didn’t like that Rebellion seemed more concerned with bearing his own weight than taking a piece out of him.

  “Come on, boy,” he kept his hands down as he walked up to Rebellion, talking in a low, confident tone. “Gotta see how your ankle is doing.
This is your game.”

  The horse shook its silvery mane and seemed to wait on him to arrive. Rebellion’s spirit finally won out and he bolted when Brandon reached his side.

  “He’s a hellion,” Rory pronounced, pivoting around and holding the rope taut to keep the horse from taking off.

  “Whoa. Not so fast.” Undeterred, Brandon ran his hand along the rope until he was a few feet from the horse. He stopped and regarded Rebellion for a few beats, then inched forward until he was in striking distance. He took hold of the horse’s bridle and snapped the guide rope in place. He unknotted the rope and shook it free from Rebellion. All the while, he spoke in a soothing voice to his horse, and ran his hand down Rebellion’s leg.

  Bending over, Brandon lifted the horse’s ankle and inspected the underside of his hoof. He removed his glove and pressed his palm against the hoof. Damn. His hand absorbed radiating heat, a sure sign of an underlying issue. Not good, and not a surprise. He let go of Rebellion’s ankle, and gave some slack to the guide rope.

  “Go on, boy,” he said, stepping back to give Rebellion room to walk in a wide circle around the indoor pen.

  Rory sauntered up to him, winding up the rope, and observing Rebellion. “Looks to be shy. He’s tender-footed, all right.”

  “No doubt he’s favoring it,” Brandon said. “But you did good. He could have gotten a heck of lot worse. Maybe now that we know his issue, he won’t be so ornery.”

  “Wishful thinking,” Rory chuckled. “It’s in his blood to be a ballbuster. Probably why you two get on.”

  “That’s rich, coming from you.” He raised a brow at his brother. “We’d better begin giving him those heat treatments and soaking his hoof.” Rebellion walked up to Brandon and whinnied. He reached into his jacket pocket for a treat and pulled out his hand. The horse approached closer, nuzzling over his palm where he held a few pieces of apples and carrots. “You’re a fighting mess,” he said, patting Rebellion’s neck.