Rancher's Wild Secret & Hold Me, Cowboy (Gold Valley Vineyards Book 1)

by Maisey Yates

  He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her up against him, pressing their bodies together, her bare breasts pressing hard against his chest. He was so turned on, his arousal felt like a crowbar between them.

  She didn’t seem to mind.

  He took hold of her chin, tilting her face up so she had to look at him. And then he leaned in, kissing her lightly, gently. It would be the last gentle thing he did all night.

  He slid his hands along her body, moving them to grip her hips. Then he turned her so that she was facing away from him. She gasped but followed the momentum as he propelled her forward, toward one of the iron figures—a horse—and placed his hand between her shoulder blades.

  “Hold on to the horse, cowgirl,” he said, his voice so rough it sounded like a stranger’s.

  “What?”

  He pushed more firmly against her back, bending her forward slightly, and she lifted her hands, placing them over the back of the statue. “Just like that,” he said.

  Her back arched slightly, and he drew his fingertips down the line of her spine, all the way down to her butt. He squeezed her there, then slipped his hand to her hip.

  “Spread your legs,” he instructed.

  She did, widening her stance, allowing him a good view and all access. He moved his hand back there, just for a second, testing her readiness. Then he positioned his arousal at the entrance to her body. He pushed into her, hard and deep, and she let out a low, slow sound of approval.

  He braced himself, putting one hand on her shoulder, his thumb pressed firmly against the back of her neck, the other holding her hip as he began to move inside her.

  He lost himself. In her, in the moment. In this soft, beautiful woman, all curves and round shapes in the middle of this hard, angular garden of iron.

  The horse was hard in front of her; he was hard behind her. Only Maddy was soft.

  Her voice was soft—the little gasps of pleasure that escaped her lips like balm for his soul. Her body was soft, her curves giving against him every time he thrust home.

  When she began to rock back against him, her desperation clearly increasing along with his, he moved his hand from her hip to between her thighs. He stroked her in time with his thrusts, bringing her along with him, higher and higher until he thought they would both shatter. Until he thought they might shatter everything in this room. All of these unbreakable, unbending things.

  She lowered her head, her body going stiff as her release broke over her, her body spasming around his, that evidence of her own loss of control stealing every ounce of his own.

  He gave himself up to this. Up to her. And when his climax hit him, it was with the realization that it was somehow hers. That she owned this. Owned this moment. Owned his body.

  That realization only made it more intense. Only made it more arousing.

  His muscles shook as he poured himself into her. As he gave himself up to it totally, completely, in a way he had given himself up to nothing and no one for more than five years. Maybe ever.

  In this moment, surrounded by all of these creations that had come out of him, he was exposed, undone. As though he had ripped his chest open completely and exposed his every secret to her, as though she could see everything, not just these creations, but the ugly, secret things that he kept contained inside his soul.

  It was enough to make his knees buckle, and he had to reach out, pressing his palm against the rough surface of the iron horse to keep himself from falling to the ground and dragging Maddy with him.

  The only sound in the room was their broken breathing, fractured and unsteady. He gathered her up against his body, one hand against her stomach, the other still on the back of the horse, keeping them upright.

  He angled his head, buried his face in her neck, kissed her.

  “Well,” Maddy said, her voice unsteady, “that was amazing.”

  He couldn’t respond. Because he couldn’t say anything. His tongue wasn’t working; his brain wasn’t working. His voice had dried up like a desert. Instead, he released his grip on the horse, turned her to face him and claimed her mouth in a deep, hard kiss.

  Ten

  Maybe it wasn’t the best thing to make assumptions, but when they got back to Sam’s house, that was exactly what Maddy did. She simply assumed that she would be invited inside because he wanted her to stay.

  If her assumption was wrong, he didn’t correct her.

  She soaked in the details of his home, the simple, completely spare surroundings, and how it seemed to clash with his newfound wealth.

  Except, in many ways it didn’t, she supposed. Sam just didn’t seem the type to go out and spend large. He was too...well, Sam.

  The cabin was neat, well kept and small. Rustic and void of any kind of frills. Honestly, it was more rustic than the cabins they had stayed in up in the mountain.

  It was just another piece that she could add to the Sam puzzle. He was such a strange man. So difficult to find the center of. To find the key to. He was one giant sheet of code and she was missing some essential bit that might help her make heads or tails of him.

  He was rough; he was distant. He was caring and kinder in many ways than almost anyone else she had ever known. Certainly, he had listened to her in a way that no one else ever had before. Offering nothing and simply taking everything onto his shoulders, letting her feel whatever she did without telling her it was wrong.

  That was valuable in a way that she hadn’t realized it would be.

  She wished that she could do the same for him. That she could figure out what the thing was that made Sam... Sam. That made him distant and difficult and a lot like a brick wall. But she knew there was more behind his aloofness. A potential for feeling, for emotion, that surpassed what he showed the world.

  She didn’t even bother to ask herself why she cared. She suspected she already knew.

  Sam busied himself making a fire in the simple, old-fashioned fireplace in the living room. It was nothing like the massive, modern adorned piece that was in the West family living room. One with fake logs and a switch that turned it on. One with a mantel that boasted the various awards won by Nathan West’s superior horses.

  There was something about this that she liked. The lack of pretension. Though, she wondered if it reflected Sam any more honestly than her own home—decorated by her mother’s interior designer—did her. She could see it, in a way. The fact that he was no-nonsense and a little bit spare.

  And yet in other ways she couldn’t.

  His art pieces looked like they were ready to take a breath and come to life any moment. The fact that such beautiful things came out of him made her think there had to be beautiful things in him. An appreciation for aesthetics. And yet none of that was in evidence here. Of course, it would be an appreciation for a hard aesthetic, since there was nothing soft about what he did.

  Still, he wasn’t quite this cold and empty either.

  Neither of them spoke while he stoked the fire, and pretty soon the small space began to warm. Her whole body was still buzzing with the aftereffects of what had happened in his studio. But still, she wanted more.

  She hadn’t intended to seduce him in his studio; it had just happened. But she didn’t regret it. She had brought a condom, just in case, so she supposed she couldn’t claim total innocence. But still.

  It had been a little bit reckless. The kind of thing a person could get caught doing. It was definitely not as discreet as she should have been. The thought made her smile. Made her feel like Sam was washing away some of the wounds of her past. That he was healing her in a way she hadn’t imagined she could be.

  She walked over to where he was, still kneeling down in front of the fireplace, and she placed her hands on his shoulders. She felt his muscles tighten beneath her touch. All of the tension that he carried in his shoulders. Why? Because he wanted her again and that bothered hi
m? It wasn’t because he didn’t want her, she was convinced of that. There was no faking what was between them.

  She let her fingertips drift down lower. Then she leaned in, pressing a kiss to his neck, as he was so fond of doing to her. As she was so fond of him doing.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice rumbling inside him.

  “Honestly, if you have to ask, I’m not doing a very good job of it.”

  “Aren’t you exhausted?”

  “The way I see it, I have five days left with you. I could go five days without sleep if I needed to.”

  He reached up, grabbing hold of her wrist and turning, then pulling her down onto the floor, onto his lap. “Is that a challenge? Because I’m more than up to meeting that.”

  “If you want to take it as one, I suppose that’s up to you.”

  She put her hands on his face, sliding her thumbs alongside the grooves next to his mouth. He wasn’t that old. In his early to midthirties, she guessed. But he wore some serious cares on that handsome face of his, etched into his skin. She wondered what they were. It was easy to assume it was the death of his parents, and perhaps that was part of it. But there was more.

  She’d had the impression earlier today that she’d only ever glimpsed a small part of him. That there were deep pieces of himself that he kept concealed from the world. And she had a feeling this was one of them. That he was a man who presented himself as simple, who lived in these simple surroundings, hard and spare, while he contained multitudes of feeling and complexity.

  She also had a feeling he would rather die than admit that.

  “All right,” he said, “if you insist.”

  He leaned in, kissing her. It was slower and more luxurious than any of the kisses they had shared back in the studio. A little bit less frantic. A little bit less desperate. Less driven toward its ultimate conclusion, much more about the journey.

  She found herself being disrobed again, for the second time that day, and she really couldn’t complain. Especially not when Sam joined her in a state of undress.

  She pressed her hand against his chest, tracing the strongly delineated muscles, her eyes following the movement.

  “I’m going to miss this,” she said, not quite sure what possessed her to speak the words out loud. Because they went so much deeper than just appreciation for his body. So much deeper than just missing his beautiful chest or his perfect abs.

  She wished that they didn’t, but they did. She wished she were a little more confused by the things she did and said with him, like she had been earlier today. But somehow, between her pouring her heart out to him at the ranch today and making love with him in the studio, a few things had become a lot clearer.

  His lips twitched, like he was considering making light of the statement. Saying something to defuse the tension between them. Instead, he wrapped his fingers around her wrist, holding her tight, pressing her palms flat against him so that she could feel his heart beating. Then he kissed her. Long, powerful. A claiming, a complete and total invasion of her soul.

  She didn’t even care.

  Or maybe, more accurately, she did care. She cared all the way down, and what she couldn’t bother with anymore was all the pretending that she didn’t. That she cared about nothing and no one, that she existed on the Isle of Maddy. Where she was wholly self-sufficient.

  She was pretty sure, in this moment, that she might need him. That she might need him in ways she hadn’t needed another person in a very long time, if ever. When she had met David, she had been a teenager. She hadn’t had any baggage; she hadn’t run into any kind of resistance in the world. She was young, and she didn’t know what giving her heart away might cost.

  She knew now. She knew so much more. She had been hurt; she had been broken. And when she allowed herself to see that she needed someone, she could see too just how badly it could go.

  When they parted, they were both breathing hard, and his dark eyes were watchful on hers. She felt like she could see further than she normally could. Past all of that strength that he wore with ease, down to the parts of him that were scarred, that had been wounded.

  That were vulnerable.

  Even Sam McCormack was vulnerable. What a revelation. Perhaps if he was, everyone was.

  He lifted his hand, brushing up against her cheek, down to her chin, and then he pushed her hair back off her face, slowly letting his fingers sift through the strands. And he watched them slide through his fingers, just as she had watched her own hand as she’d touched his chest. She wondered what he was thinking. If he was thinking what she’d been. If he was attached to her in spite of himself.

  Part of her hoped so. Part of her hoped not.

  He leaned down, kissing her on the shoulder, the seemingly nonsexual contact affecting her intensely. Making her skin feel like it was on fire, making her heart feel like it might burst right out of her chest.

  She found herself being propelled backward, but it felt like slow motion, as he lowered her down onto the floor. Onto the carpet there in front of the fireplace.

  She had the thought that this was definitely a perfect component for a winter affair. But then the thought made her sad. Because she wanted so much more than a winter affair with him. So much more than this desperate grab in front of the fire, knowing that they had only five days left with each other.

  But then he was kissing her and she couldn’t think anymore. She couldn’t regret. She could only kiss him back.

  His hands skimmed over her curves, her breasts, her waist, her hips, all the way down to her thighs, where he squeezed her tight, held on to her as though she were his lifeline. As though he were trying to memorize every curve, every dip and swell.

  She closed her eyes, gave herself over to it, to the sensation of being known by Sam. The thought filled her, made her chest feel like it was expanding. He knew her. He really knew her. And he was still here. Still with her. He didn’t judge her; he didn’t find her disgusting.

  He didn’t treat her like she was breakable. He could still bend her over a horse statue in his studio, then be like this with her in front of the fire. Tender. Sweet.

  Because she was a woman who wanted both things. And he seemed to know it.

  He also seemed to be a man who might need both too.

  Or maybe everybody did. But you didn’t see it until you were with the person you wanted to be both of those things with.

  “Hang on just a second,” he said, suddenly, breaking into her sensual reverie. She had lost track of time. Lost track of everything except the feel of his hands on her skin.

  He moved away from her, the loss of his body leaving her cold. But he returned a moment later, settling himself in between her thighs. “Condom,” he said by way of explanation.

  At least one of them had been thinking. She certainly hadn’t been.

  He joined their bodies together, entering her slowly, the sensation of fullness, of being joined to him, suddenly so profound that she wanted to weep with it. It always felt good. From the first time with him it had felt good. But this was different.

  It was like whatever veil had been between them, whatever stack of issues had existed, had been driving them, was suddenly dropped. And there was nothing between them. When he looked at her, poised over her, deep inside her, she felt like he could see all the way down.

  When he moved, she moved with him, meeting him thrust for thrust, pushing them both to the brink. And when she came, he came along with her, his rough gasp of pleasure in her ears ramping up her own release.

  In the aftermath, skin to skin, she couldn’t deny anymore what all these feelings were. She couldn’t pretend that she didn’t know.

  She’d signed herself up for a twelve-day fling with a man she didn’t even like, and only one week in she had gone and fallen in love with Sam McCormack.

  * * *

  “Sam
.” Maddy’s voice broke into his sensual haze. He was lying on his back in front of the fireplace, feeling drained and like he had just had some kind of out-of-body experience. Except he had been firmly in his body and feeling everything, everything and then some.

  “What?” he asked, his voice rusty.

  “Why do you make farm animals?”

  “What the hell kind of question is that?” he asked.

  “A valid one,” she said, moving nearer to him, putting her hand on his chest, tracing shapes there. “I mean, not that they aren’t good.”

  “The horse seemed good enough for you a couple hours ago.”

  “It’s good,” she said, her tone irritated, because she obviously thought he was misunderstanding her on purpose.

  Which she wasn’t wrong about.

  “Okay, but you don’t think I should be making farm animals.”

  “No, I think it’s fine that you make farm animals. I just think it’s not actually you.”

  He shifted underneath her, trying to decide whether or not he should say anything. Or if he should sidestep the question. If it were anyone else, he would laugh. Play it off. Pretend like there was no answer. That there was nothing deeper in him than simply re-creating what he literally saw out in the fields in front of him.

  And a lot of people would have bought that. His own brother probably would have, or at the very least, he wouldn’t have pushed. But this was Maddy. Maddy, who had come apart in his arms in more than one way over the past week. Maddy, who perhaps saw deeper inside him than anyone else ever had.

  Why not tell her? Why not? Because he could sense her getting closer to him. Could sense it like an invisible cord winding itself around the two of them, no matter that he was going to have to cut it in the end. Maybe it would be best to do it now.

  “If I don’t make what I see, I’ll have to make what I feel,” he said. “Nobody wants that.”

  “Why not?”