Riding High

by Stacy Finz

  She began to cry, which was a new one for her. Gia never cried. Ever. But she’d made a mess of things even though all she’d wanted to do was help. She still couldn’t fathom how she’d wound up in this situation. One day she was on top of the world and the next ruined. It was beyond Kafkaesque.

  “Don’t cry!” he said, sounding kind of panicked. “Hell no. I can’t handle tears. Come on, Gia . . . don’t.”

  He got up and paced the kitchen with his back to her. “Are you still crying?”

  “No,” she said, but she was.

  “Ah, for Christ’s sake.” He pulled her off the stool, enfolded her in his arms, and kissed the top of her head.

  Next thing she knew he was half-dragging, half-carrying her into the powder room. The important thing was he hadn’t let go. And just having his arms around her made Gia feel stronger, like she wasn’t alone.

  He grabbed a wad of tissue from the dispenser and pushed it into her hand. “Blow your nose.”

  She wiped her eyes and cheeks and blew her nose. “I’m a terrible client, aren’t I?”

  “The worst I’ve ever had. I wish I could fire you.”

  What a horrible thing to say. She glared at him, and before she could shoot back something equally mean, he kissed her. Right there with her butt pressed against the sink vanity. His mouth, warm and incredibly soft, latched onto hers. Insistent, with an insatiability that was hard to match, he repeatedly plunged his tongue inside her, making it clear that this wasn’t a warm-up. He claimed and raided, taking what he’d been so nobly denying himself. The kiss was both rough and demanding and so quintessentially Flynn.

  She gripped his shoulders to hang on, encouraging him to go forever and not stop. His hands moved to the back of her head to take the kiss deeper and push the rock-hard bulge in his pants into her pelvis. She wanted their clothes off, her body so hot and wet that in another minute she’d melt.

  Reaching for his belt, she tried to undo the buckle with one hand while the other stayed fisted in his shirt for leverage. She fumbled, stymied by the Western clasp. It didn’t fasten like a conventional buckle.

  He pushed her hand away and undid it himself, opening his fly and pushing down his shorts until his erection sprang free. With both hands he hoisted her onto the vanity, slid her away from the sink, unbuttoned her blouse, and parted the sides. His eyes heated and his nostrils flared.

  “God, you’re beautiful.”

  Too frenzied to bother with her bra, he pushed up her skirt and slid down her panties. She heard something tear, looked down, and saw that he’d yanked down his pants and underwear to his knees and had sheathed himself in a condom. She didn’t know where the rubber had come from, only that it had magically appeared. But that was Flynn, always prepared. He felt her with his fingers. The sensation of his hands down there, against her bare skin, touching, made her wetter. She leaned her head against the mirror and shuddered.

  Within seconds he’d spread her legs wide and pushed inside her. His size was impossible and he moved slowly, giving her time to become accustomed to him. Finally he reached under Gia’s bottom to change the angle, burying himself to the hilt. He pulled in and out a few times, stretching her, and when she moaned in pleasure he began pumping, hard and fast.

  “More,” she called because she couldn’t get enough of him.

  His hands moved to her breasts and he pulled her bra cups down as he continued to pound into her. Her eyes were closed, but she felt him take one of her nipples into his warm mouth and suck. The sensation was so delicious she cried out.

  “Good?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Don’t stop.”

  His hands were everywhere now. Fondling her breasts, tweaking her nipples, squeezing her ass as he kissed her neck and throat. It took all her energy to keep pace with him . . . to match him stroke for stroke. He’d gone a little crazy, and the thought that it was she who’d made him lose control ripped away her last inhibitions. She was wild as she bucked against him, her legs tangled around his waist as she screamed out his name.

  Her orgasm happened so fast and lasted so long she felt herself spiral through the air and explode into a million shards of colored light. It had never been as intense as this with anyone else. Flynn lifted her slightly and went deeper . . . harder. His face and neck tensed, as if he was straining. She felt his body convulse and heard him grunt. Then he threw his head back and she watched him come.

  He lay his forehead against hers, his breathing fast and heavy. “You all right?”

  At a loss for adjectives she simply, very quietly, said yes.

  He straightened, tugged off the condom, and threw it in the trash. Next he pulled up his pants and tucked himself in before buttoning his fly. She sat there limp, unable to move. Flynn pulled down her skirt, collected her panties from the floor, righted her bra, and closed her blouse. Tilting his head back, he stood there for a few minutes, silent. To Gia it looked like he was reprimanding himself. Either that or he was disappointed.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He scoured his hand over his face. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

  “You regret it?” Gia adjusted her clothes self-consciously. She had no regrets. Not a single one. She’d loved every minute of what they’d done.

  “No,” he said. “And that’s the problem.”

  “You’re making me feel bad.”

  “You’ve got nothing to feel bad about, Gia. You’re not my lawyer. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Nor did you. I’m a consenting adult . . . I wanted this . . . egged you on.”

  “You mean seduced me? Nah, I seduced you. I’ve been flirting and kissing and touching you for weeks.... I lost control. I’m an asshole.”

  “No, you’re not.” She got down from the vanity. “You’re a good attorney. You can’t help it if I’m a siren.”

  His lips curved up in a wry smile. “You are that. But this is my fault and I think I should find you another lawyer.”

  “No way.” That scared her. With his federal law enforcement background, no one had better experience to represent her than Flynn.

  “Then we can’t continue to sleep together,” he said without much conviction.

  “I think that ship has sailed and so do you.” Even this soon after, she wanted him again.

  “Come out of the bathroom.”

  She followed him. The powder room was small to begin with, but Flynn made it feel minuscule. He led her into the great room, where he made sure to sit in one of the over-stuffed chairs instead of on the couch with her. It stung. She wanted to cuddle with him.

  “This wasn’t supposed to happen, not while . . . ah jeez, I sound like a broken record.” He sat there for a while, not saying anything, and Gia was sure he was berating himself. Then he rose. “It’s late and we should go to sleep.”

  She looked at him, hopeful he meant together. But he headed for the stairs. “Good night.”

  He suddenly turned around and kissed her lightly on the lips. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow, okay?”

  But the next morning he was gone before she even woke up. Gia consoled herself by eating the ice cream they’d never gotten around to having for breakfast.

  Chapter 18

  Flynn needed distance to think so he drove to Quincy to have breakfast with his brother. Later he’d touch base with Toad and Bellamy. See what more they’d found. Knowing Gia, plenty.

  As he drove, snippets of the night before flashed in his head. He couldn’t call sex with Gia a mistake because it had been the best he’d ever had. But it complicated things. He wouldn’t lose his license over it. Believe it or not, in California a lawyer could sleep with his client as long as he wasn’t making sex a condition of representation or exploiting her, like seducing someone despondent over a bad divorce. Still, it was frowned upon, as it should be.

  The big problem was, he wanted to continue sleeping with her and she’d made it clear she’d be up for it. But sex made you lose objectivity and he couldn’t affo
rd to do that where Gia was concerned. Too much at stake.

  Flynn turned left onto Crescent Street and made another left on Main, parked by the natural food store, and walked the block to the coffee shop. In recent years a few trendy cafés and hair salons had sprouted up, but downtown was mainly a mish mash of utilitarian stores housed in historic buildings, some left over from the Gold Rush.

  At the coffee shop Wes had secured their usual booth and Flynn hung his hat next to his brother’s on the coatrack near the cash register.

  “Wes is waiting for you, hon.” Flossie, the owner, handed him a menu. Silly, because he’d been ordering the same thing since he was ten years old: chicken fried steak with gravy, eggs sunny-side up, country fried potatoes, and a biscuit.

  Flynn walked through the restaurant to the table. Wes stood and slapped him on the back, which evolved into a guy hug. They were about the same height and used to be the same size, but married life had added a few inches to Wes’s waistline.

  “How you doin’?” Wes sat back down.

  “Good.” Flynn scooted into the booth, across from his brother.

  “You’re spending a lot of time in Nugget these days. Mom says the new Rosser Ranch owner has captured your attention.” He raised his brows. “That true?”

  Why lie? Flynn huffed out a breath. “Yeah, but it’s complicated.”

  “It always is.” His brother grinned. “Mom says she’s the TV lady whose boyfriend stole all that money.”

  “Yep. I’m her lawyer.”

  Wes whistled. “So you can’t talk about it, huh?”

  “Not about the investigation.” The waitress came with coffee and he and Wes put in their orders. “How’re Jo and the kids?”

  “Great. Whitley asked me to hit you up for Girl Scout cookies.”

  “Put me down for a dozen boxes. I’ll bring them to the office.”

  “So tell me about the TV lady without giving away the legal stuff.” Wes poured cream into his coffee and took a sip.

  “She’s gorgeous, funny, and smart.” Except when she did stupid things like send money to the victims of her ex’s investment fraud. “She has a horse named Rory and rides with an English saddle.”

  “No kidding.” Wes leaned across the table. “You two . . . intimate?” They both laughed because Wes had phrased the question so delicately. Not his usual style.

  As of yesterday, “Yeah.”

  “Is it serious?”

  “Nah.”

  “Jeez, Flynn, how much longer you gonna play the field? What’s wrong with this one?”

  Besides her legal problems . . . “She doesn’t believe in marriage.”

  I don’t want to share a bank account with another person. I don’t want to make financial decisions by committee. And I don’t want to be dependent on someone else.

  “From what I can tell, neither do you, little brother.”

  Wes was wrong. Flynn did believe in marriage . . . when the time and person were right.

  Their food came and Wes stopped talking long enough to smother his pancakes in butter and syrup before shoveling a forkful into his mouth.

  “Don’t listen to that bullshit,” he said between bites. “If you want to marry her, marry her.”

  “I just met her, Wes. Besides, what do you want me to do: hog-tie her and bring her before the county clerk?”

  Wes chuckled and continued to plow through his food. “I guess you’ve lost your touch with the ladies. The old Flynn would’ve had her begging for your hand.”

  Flynn rolled his eyes. “Can we talk about this bull you want to buy?”

  “Want to change the subject, do ya?” Wes laughed some more. The idiot was enjoying himself. “You’ve canceled on me so many times I forgot about the goddamned bull. But yeah, let’s get it out of the way so I can continue giving you shit.”

  “If we don’t buy that gooseneck stock trailer you want we can afford the bull.”

  “I want both,” Wes said. “Can’t we do away with something else? That old trailer we have won’t make it another season. And the bull has great lines.”

  Flynn fidgeted with a packet of sweetener on the table. He knew their old stock trailer was in bad shape. “What do you propose we do?”

  Wes owned a successful construction company; he was a good businessman. Yet somehow Flynn had been put in charge of the finances for the ranch.

  “We take out a short-term loan. Beef prices are good this year.”

  Flynn hated borrowing against the ranch, but in this case Wes was right. Not a lot of risk involved. They were talking about a relatively small dollar amount. And they’d make a killing when they took their calves to market.

  “Okay,” he said. “You want me to handle the loan or do you plan to do it?”

  “I’ll put Jo on it.” Wes’s wife was the bookkeeper for both the ranch and the construction company. His brother waggled his brows. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full with your TV lady.”

  Flynn shook his head. To keep Wes from starting up again, he said, “Annie Sparks is working for Gia. She’s planting Christmas trees on Rosser Ranch and is gonna live there over the summer to oversee the project. She broke up with the douchebag.”

  “No kidding. For good this time?”

  “I think so. She’s been staying at the ranch on weekends until school gets out. No sign of Zeke.”

  “I hope she’s finally rid of that little pissant. Remember that time we nearly kicked his ass?”

  They’d gone to one of his lousy shows because Annie had asked them to. Zeke had gotten shit-faced on stage, swilling beer like a frat-boy pledge. After the gig ended he’d elected himself designated driver. When Flynn stepped in the kid got belligerent. Then Wes rushed to the rescue and fists starting flying, Zeke throwing the first one. He missed Wes altogether and slammed his knuckles into a wall. Annie freaked out, grabbed Zeke’s keys, and slid behind the wheel.

  “Yep. If it hadn’t been for Annie, we would’ve left him sprawled facedown in the parking lot.”

  “What’s going on with Chad?” Wes asked. “He still robbing the Sparkses’ farm blind?”

  Flynn couldn’t get into it, though most people in California’s tight-knit agricultural community knew about the Chad problem. “Can’t talk about it.”

  “What can you talk about these days?”

  “I’m bringing Gia to Sunday dinner.” Flynn mopped his biscuit in the leftover gravy.

  Wes’s face lit with amusement. “Gia, the one who doesn’t want to marry you?”

  “I didn’t say she didn’t want to marry me specifically. She doesn’t want to marry period.”

  “I’ve gotta meet this woman.” Wes grinned like a loon. “Mom seems to think she’s the second coming of Christ.”

  “Mom likes her books . . . liked her show.”

  “I can’t wait to tell Jo. She’s got a couple of friends she’s been wanting to set you up with. Looks like you’re off the hook.”

  They finished their breakfasts, talked more about the cattle, paid their bill, and went their separate ways. Wes had a couple of big residential jobs and was anxious to check on the work. This time of year he made hay while the sun shone because winters could be slow. Between the construction and the cattle, he’d made a good life for himself. Beautiful family and a big house with a swimming pool. The older Flynn got the more Wes’s life appealed to him. Someday, he told himself.

  He walked back to his truck and called Toad.

  “You got anything?”

  “I found the ex,” Toad said.

  “Cleo’s ex?”

  “Yep. She’s living in Florida . . . Miami. What do you say I go out there? Angry exes often have loose lips.”

  Flynn thought about it. They’d been going through the divorce when Cleo got shot. Because she was still technically Cleo’s wife, she stood to do well financially from his death after probate. So he didn’t know how chatty she’d be. But he supposed it was worth a shot.

  “Yeah, go ahead,” he told
Toad. “See if you can work your magic.” He got off the phone and backed out of his parking space.

  He was heading up Main to catch the highway back to Nugget when a florist he’d never seen before caught his eye. Must be new, he thought as he snagged an empty parking space right in front. He didn’t know what the hell possessed him to go inside, but twenty minutes later he walked out with a huge arrangement and his wallet a hundred bucks lighter.

  Damn, flowers were expensive.

  * * *

  Gia got off the phone with her mother when the doorbell rang. She hadn’t heard an accompanying car—then again, the security gate was closed. But she wasn’t expecting anyone. On the way to check the peephole, she made sure to avoid windows, which proved difficult in a house full of them. She didn’t want to have to deal with a reporter.

  But it was Maddy Shepard, the chief’s wife.

  “Hi. I hope I haven’t come at a bad time,” she said when Gia opened the door.

  “Not at all. Come in. You want coffee or a soft drink?”

  “Coffee would be lovely if you have it made. I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

  “I’ve got a pot on.” Gia led her to the kitchen and fixed her a mug. “Cream? Sugar?”

  “Cream, please. Thank you.”

  Gia got a carton of half and half out of the refrigerator, curious about the impromptu visit. She’d stayed at Maddy’s inn a few times while property hunting and had had the misfortune of being there the day the arsonist had torched the place. Other than those few interactions, she and Maddy hardly knew each other.

  Gia pulled out one of the barstools. “You want to sit in here or would you be more comfortable in the great room?”

  “This is fine. I didn’t have a chance to tell you before what a gorgeous house you have. I’d never been inside when the Rossers lived here.”

  “Thank you,” Gia said, though she couldn’t take credit for anything about the home. She’d kept it exactly the way it was, with the exception of putting up a few photographs and knickknacks on the shelves.

  Maddy scanned the kitchen and craned her neck a little to peek into the breakfast room.