by Myla Jackson
For a moment the cowboy froze. Then gripped Trent’s hand with his own gloved one. “Thanks.” The cowboy refused to look up, keeping his chin tucked in, his head lowered.
Trent couldn’t look the man in the eye. He didn’t trust a man who wouldn’t look him directly in the eye. “You got a name?”
“Lucky.”
“Lucky.” Trent digested that. “Nickname?”
The ranch hand shook his head and tipped his hat lower over his head. “I better go dump this.” As he hurried around Trent, the wheel ran over Trent’s toe.
“Ow!” Trent yanked his foot back and teetered on one leg.
“Oh my gosh!” The cowboy’s hands flew in the air and the wheelbarrow dumped over, the contents rushing out, knocking Trent backward. He slammed into the freshly stacked hay bales and they swayed.
Trent glanced up, his breath hitching.
Crap.
“Oh no.” The young cowboy launched himself at the hay, tripped over the pile of dung and straw and, instead of catching the bales before they toppled, sprawled out on top of Trent.
The bales tipped and fell, one after the other, landing on or near them.
Several grunts sounded from the cowboy who took the bulk of the pummeling.
His hat flew off and long sandy-blonde hair tangled with the loose hay flying around the interior of the barn.
Trent blinked the hay and dust out of his eyes and stared up into pretty gray eyes, the color of storm clouds. “You!”
The woman he’d been dreaming about kissing planted her hands against his chest and tried to push herself off him.
“Yes, me.”
He opened his mouth to admit he thought he’d never see her again. Thinking better of it, he demanded, “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Working.” Jerking her leg out from under a heavy bale, she managed to roll off him and onto the ground. “What does it look like?” As agile as a cat, she shot to her feet.
“I can see that. But why?”
“Isaac hired me as the new ranch hand.”
“What?” Trent stood and stared at her.
“Is it so hard to believe a woman can be as effective and efficient at ranch work as a man?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“No, you didn’t have to.” She stood, brushing the hay from her jeans but missing the straws stuck in her hair. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get to work cleaning this up.”
“I didn’t say I agreed with Isaac’s decision to hire you.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “You gonna fire me?”
He glared at her. “I don’t know.”
“Well, until you say otherwise, I have work to do.”
Trent climbed over the bales to stand in front of her. “Like I said last night. You’re trouble.”
Something clouded her already stormy eyes. “Maybe, but I work hard and I know my way around a ranch.”
She grabbed a bale and threw it up onto the stack.
“I gathered that.” And she was beautiful with fire in her eyes and hay in her hair. Trent worked alongside her until they had all the hay stacked in neat rows. When they were done, he brushed straw off his body and grinned. She’d worked hefting as many bales as he had. So, she could lift bales.
Lucky flicked hay off her shoulders. “If we’re done here, there’s a fence on the northeast corner of the property I intend to fix.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because it’s a two-man—person—job.”
“I’ve strung fence with and without help. I can handle it.”
“Maybe so, but we use the buddy rule around here. Unless you’re working around the house or barn, you always take a buddy with you. That way if one or the other is hurt, you have someone there to help.”
She looked at him through slitted eyes. “You’re making that up.”
He held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
Her eyes narrowed even more. “When were you ever a Scout?”
His lips twisted. “Okay, so I’ve never been a Scout. But we do use the buddy system. I’ll go with you.”
Her full, soft lips tightened. “How do you usually get there?”
“I take the four-wheeler. You can ride on the back.”
“Is that how you and your partner…er, brother ride out?”
“We usually take a couple of four-wheelers, but one of them is in the shop for repair.”
She hesitated then nodded. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Trent gathered the come-along, a roll of barbed wire, pliers, a hammer and a couple of metal fence posts and the heavy pounder used to drive them in.
Lucky took half of the supplies and carried them out into the open, then went back for the other half while Trent pulled the four-wheeler out of one of the storage areas in the barn.
Loading what she could in the box on the back, she settled the fence posts over the box and Trent strapped them down along with the pole pounder.
“I’ll get my hat and be ready to go.” Lucky disappeared into the barn.
Isaac joined Trent, carrying two water bottles. He settled them in the box with the tools. “I take it you’ve met our new ranch hand.”
Trent gave Isaac a withering look. “Yeah. You could have warned me.”
“She has the experience and know-how. And from the looks of it, the stamina.” Isaac’s lips twitched.
“Don’t go there.”
Desire as reckless as a fighter jet in freefall…and just as dangerous.
Double Down
© 2012 Katie Porter
Vegas Top Guns, Book 1
As part of the 64th Aggressor Squadron, Major Ryan “Fang” Haverty flies like the enemy to teach Allied pilots how not to die. The glittering excess of the Strip can’t compare to the glowing jet engines of his F-16. But a sexy, redheaded waitress in seamed stockings? Now she gets his blood pumping.
Cassandra Whitman’s good-girl ways haven’t earned any slack from her manager ex-boyfriend, or prevented a bad case of frazzle from holding down two and a half jobs. She sure wouldn’t mind letting the handsome Southern charmer shake up her routine.
Their wild weekend lives up to Sin City’s reputation. Especially when they discover a matched passion for roleplaying. For Cass, it’s an exciting departure from her normal, shy persona. But for Ryan, it triggers memories of a time when his fetish drove away the woman he loved—leaving him reluctant to risk a repeat performance.
Except Cass refuses to settle for ordinary ever again. She’s about to show the man with hair-trigger hands that she’s got a few surprise moves of her own.
Warning: This book contains dirty-hot roleplaying, featuring an all-alpha fighter pilot and an ambitious waitress with a fabulous imagination. Also: dressing-room sex, a plaid schoolgirl skirt, and a sprinkling of spankings.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Double Down:
She assessed her appearance in the bathroom’s full-length mirror. For the hundredth time. No change. She still looked like a naughty fantasy.
A French maid. She should’ve guessed.
Her grin took on a distinctly sexual edge, which she didn’t mind at all. The blush too felt right—a little self-conscious, a little anxious. Already the temperature in her blood upped toward scalding.
“You greedy slut,” she whispered to her reflection, the grin broadening. “One great time wasn’t enough.”
Her nerves stretched and stretched as she waited. She’d ordered room service and managed to take a quick shower. Her hair was still wet, but she’d bound it in a sleek bun at the base of her neck. A light application of the cosmetics she’d snagged during a two-minute run through a store in The Paris’s lobby had done wonders to hold back the look of fatigue.
> Ryan’s knock, when it came, sped her heartbeat. If she played the French maid, she wondered what he would be. A bedraggled traveler who’d had the buttons yanked off his shirt? A down-on-his-luck gambler?
And just how far would she push this? Cass had spent the last hour trying to get inside his head. There was a huge gulf between a bit of dress-up and full roleplaying. She was almost surprised at how much she wanted it to be the latter. Something that tipped over, deep inside. Something had unlocked. She could be anything, say anything, do anything.
The worst he would do is laugh, maybe flash that pulse-pounding smile and tell her to drop the act. He might merely be a guy after something different to look at, but that didn’t feel right, not for Ryan. She had a guess as to what he liked, and she was willing to give it a shot.
His knock was more insistent the second time. Good. She didn’t like to think that he’d give up on her.
Cass took a deep breath and opened the door.
Ryan stood at the threshold wearing a fantastic dress uniform. The dark blue did marvelous things for his healthy tan, and the braided silver trim looked impressively realistic. Navy? No, that wasn’t right. Air Force, maybe?
More than the color and the authenticity of the costume, she loved how it was exactly tailored to his body—tall and lean, long and strong. Only a slack, bewildered expression gave away his response to her maid’s outfit. Otherwise he embodied everything impressive and sexy about a man in uniform.
“Oh! Monsieur Haverty,” she said in her best French accent. A year spent studying art in Paris would finally prove good for something. “I hadn’t expected you so soon. Merci, come in.”
He hesitated for only a second. Then the reality of what she’d done and said—how she sounded—seemed to click in his brain. “Thank you. I didn’t expect to be kept waiting.”
“My apologies, monsieur. I was only just finishing up.”
“I don’t appreciate sloppy service.”
She nibbled her bottom lip, daring to glance up from beneath lowered lashes. He surveyed the hotel room with the air of a man who expected perfection and found it lacking. A curious heat bloomed in her stomach, reveling in his command of the moment.
She’d been right. The man wanted to play.
“Your room-service order is waiting for you in the bedroom,” she said, pitching her voice toward conciliatory. “As you requested.”
“Oh?” He lifted his brows. “I’m curious if you managed to get that right, at least.”
She ushered him into the bedroom where a rolling silver-tone cart was topped with a plate of fresh fruit and a bottle of champagne on ice. She’d ordered the items no matter the sticker shock, figuring they’d sort out paying for it later. Tonight was about living a fantasy.
Ryan strolled to the cart. His expression verged on haughty as he surveyed the assortment. “Good enough.”
“I’m pleased, Monsieur Haverty.”
“It’s Major Haverty, actually.”
“Major?”
“Yes. And you are?”
“Cassandra,” she said, briefly shaking hands. That same electric zap they’d shared from the first moment reappeared, only stronger. She almost dropped character. Ryan’s teasing grin made a brief reappearance, as if he too was tempted to laugh.
Then it was gone. He was Major Haverty again.
“Where are you from, Cassandra?”
“Montparnasse, in Paris.”
Dear Lord, he was unbelievably handsome in that uniform. She wondered again where he’d picked it up. Had he returned to the sex shop? Or someplace else? He stood with his shoulders back, his posture firm and solid. The thought turned her on in funny, unpredictable ways. The roleplaying was easy to indulge when he fit the part so perfectly.
“What do you do in the military? Is it the Air Force?”
“That’s right,” he said. “I fly fighter jets. F-16s.”
Cass’s jaw dropped. He could do that all day, adding facts to his character that would’ve seriously jeopardized the absorbency of her panties—had she been wearing any.
No matter how fabulous Ryan looked, her hands were restless for wanting to see him stripped. Something about his expression, however, told her he’d be the one giving orders.
Yes, sir.
“Well, I should finish up my duties.” So breathless now, she heard her accent slipping.
She turned to leave the bedroom, but he called out, “Miss? Could you help me first?”
“My pleasure, monsie—I mean, Major.”
He seemed to stifle a private smile. “This coat.” He began undoing the buttons. “It’s too hot in here for it. I won’t be able to get comfortable.”
“I should think not.” She crossed the floor, her knees shaky. “Here, let me help.”
He dropped his arms to his sides as she undid the remaining buttons. Her breath was coming in fitful gulps, but she forced herself to concentrate.
Calm down.
By the looks of how they were playing this hand, they would take their time. She needed to get herself under control or she’d wind up begging for a quickie down on the carpet to cut the tension. What she loved about their game was what would rip her up inside. The waiting. The deliberate buildup.
She pressed her hands flat against his body, right above his ribs. Slowly, slowly, she smoothed them up the inside of his coat, making love to his chest with her palms and her fingertips. His shoulders were tense. Corded ropes of muscles bunched and relaxed beneath her touch. She eased the dress coat over his shoulders then down his brawny arms.
Through it all he held his tense stance, chin thrust out. She liked to think she had all of him at attention, but she didn’t dare go for his crotch. Not yet.
The coat dropped to the floor behind him. “Thank you,” he said curtly. “You can hang that up now.”
Cass hid her smile. She angled her backside in such a way that he would get the choicest view as she bent at the waist. She took her time, first retrieving the coat, then strolling to the closet where she found a hanger. Every action felt bathed in molasses, so achingly slow. In that hotel room, time had ceased.
A pop sound yanked her heart into her throat. She turned to find Ryan pouring champagne. The pale blue dress shirt did even better things for his tan than the dark coat. Muscles pulled and shifted with every movement. Her mouth watered at the prospect of seeing him fully nude. They’d shared so much so quickly, but damn did they have a long way to go.
“Come,” he said.
“So soon?”
His gaze jumped to hers. His expression told her she was naughty to risk ruining their charade. “Cut the impertinence, miss. Come here.”
She toyed with the lace edge of her skirt as she approached. His eyes jumped and danced, as if trying to take in everything.
He handed her a full champagne flute before downing a big gulp from his. Maybe he wasn’t as controlled as he managed to appear. “Now, drink.”
Cass dove in for a healthy sip. The bubbles went straight to her oxygen-starved brain. Ryan made her half-drunk already. The alcohol didn’t stand a chance when compared to his blatant sex appeal.
“I want you to do something for me,” he said, his voice tight and low.
“Anything. Anything you need.”
“Go sit on that loveseat.”
Cass willed her feet to move. She crossed away from the serving cart and sat primly on the edge of the loveseat’s stiff cushion.
The window behind her allowed the lights of the Strip to shine in, bathing his face and his crisp, pale blue shirt in color. She just waited, perched there, loving the way he touched her everywhere with his hot gaze.
“Cassandra,” he said softly.
“Oui?”
“I’m going to go down on you.”
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B
Cincinnati OH 45249
Wyatt’s War
Copyright © 2014 by Myla Jackson
ISBN: 978-1-61922-220-5
Edited by Christa Soule
Cover by Valerie Tibbs
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: July 2014
www.samhainpublishing.com