by Anya Summers
“I’ve had a particularly busy year with the ranch. Just because I’m not attending the club, doesn’t mean I’m celibate,” Carter said, folding his arms across his chest—even though that was precisely what he’d become.
After a long draught of iced tea, Spencer replied, seeming to choose his words carefully. “Normally, I would buy that and not press you. But you forget, I know you. And you haven’t been the same since your visit to Pleasure Island last August. I know there was a sub—”
“Careful,” Carter uttered, his voice deadly serious. He did not want to rehash the island or talk about Jenna with anyone. Not when the mere thought of her made his heart ache.
“Fuck that. You’ve been moping for almost a year. You searched for her and couldn’t find her. It’s time you moved on. I’m saying this not out of spite but because I’m genuinely concerned,” Spencer said.
Carter grimaced and traced the line of a bead of moisture on his glass before he replied, “Look, I know I haven’t gone to the club lately. I will. I just—hell, Spencer, it’s the same old subs there. I realize your concern and while I appreciate it—”
“Just come, tonight even. It will do you some good to get out of the house for a night. You’re not a recluse but this past year you sure as shit have been acting like one.”
Had he? Deep down he knew Spencer was right. Carter needed to move on and forget about the past. Jenna was lost to him, forever. As bitter a pill as it was to swallow, short of hiring a private investigator to track her down, there was nothing he could do about it. He’d been standing still, letting life move on around him while his heart bled into the ground at the loss. And Jenna obviously didn’t want to be found—at least not by him—because if she did, she would be here.
“Fine. I’ll come this evening. So you and the rest of the idiot brigade will get off my case,” Carter agreed and shook his head. The thought of attending the club was about as appealing as watching paint dry, but he’d suffer through it.
“And the sub from the island?” Spencer urged, with a black slash of an eyebrow cocked.
“Give it a rest, will you? I’ll think about it, but no more talk of her. I shouldn’t have told you about her in the first place and wouldn’t have if not for the tequila that night. But for now, I have horses that need to be taken care of in the stables,” Carter said, shoving his chair back and standing up from the table, effectively ending the conversation in his mind. He grabbed his plate and glass and placed them in the sink for Dottie. If he so much as tried to put them in the dishwater, he caught hell from her so he’d stopped doing it ages ago. That woman was scary when she was angry, and would feed him something horrid like tripe if he didn’t follow her orders. Carter realized the irony in a Dom like him taking orders from his housekeeper, but some things were better left alone.
He turned to find Spencer was behind him with his plate and cup. “Look, I’m not trying to piss you off, Carter. We’ve all been concerned for a while now. I’m not trying to lessen the impact of what you felt for the sub but it’s over. It’s been over for a while, and the only way you’re going to heal is by moving on. Best way to do that is to fuck her out of your system.”
“Save the Dom crap for a sub who needs it. May I remind you that I’m the founder of our little club?” Carter snapped, anger swirling in his chest.
“Yeah, well, start fucking acting like it instead of moping and growing more callouses,” Spencer said, setting his stuff in the sink and heading toward the door.
“I told you I would come tonight,” Carter growled to Spencer’s retreating back.
“See that you do,” Spencer said. “It’s Friday, the place should be hopping. And if you don’t, come Sunday, the boys and I will ream you out on poker night.”
“Get out of here before I change my mind,” Carter snapped, putting his hat back on his head and following Spencer out the back door.
“I’m going,” Spencer said, giving him a friendly middle finger salute as he climbed in his Dodge ram.
Ass.
He shook his head as Spencer drove down the lane, kicking up dust.
Was his friend right? Had Carter become a recluse in an effort to avoid the truth? As much as Spencer was his brother from another mother, he hated when the bastard was right.
Because there was truth in his friend’s words—he was right. Jenna was gone from Carter’s life. He’d searched for her and hadn’t been able to track her down. It was like she’d vanished. Even Jared was no help.
Had it all been a mirage? That was the question that woke him up at night. Had the emotion and the feelings he’d seen in her eyes, that he’d felt in her touch, been nothing but a fantasy? And why had she chosen to stay on the island? Why, after everything that had happened between them, had she walked away from him? And how had he been too blind to see it coming?
Chapter 2
After Spencer left the Double J, Carter threw himself back into work for the rest of the day. With ninety-six horses to care for, feed, bathe, medicate, and train, there were days when the labor felt endless and like he was never quite finished. That was life on the ranch. Always far too much work and not enough hands. Herb had suggested taking on more help. They had the profits to make it work so Carter had told him to bring on whomever he thought would assimilate well on the ranch. Herb knew people, and Carter trusted him to make the right choices. There were a few high school kids who came and shoveled the stalls but during the summer, most were working at the ski resorts and other tourist places in town.
By five o’clock his body ached, but Carter would honor his word. When he promised someone something, no matter what it was, he followed through with it. Whether he wanted to or not.
So instead of taking a dip in his indoor pool and relaxing that evening, Carter showered and dressed for attending the club. Since the heat dipped into reasonable temperatures at night, he wore a black tank top with a blue button-down shirt which he left open, rolling the sleeves up to his elbows.
He changed hats from his work hat to his city hat, and added a black pair of steel toed shit-kicker cowboy boots he’d had specially commissioned for his size sixteen feet.
Instead of eating more of Dottie’s mouth-watering beef brisket, he gave her the night off and headed into town for dinner. He drove to one of his favorite places, the Teton Roadhouse and Brewery Company. They’d only been in business in downtown Jackson Hole for some half dozen years, but they made one of the best steaks he’d ever eaten and brewed an exceptionally fine craft beer. A winning combination, in his book, and one he hadn’t had for quite a while.
Carter had been denying himself the simple pleasures in life since Jenna. That ended now, tonight. Spencer had been dead on correct. If positions were reversed, with Carter addressing another Master, who had been acting like a reclusive monk the way Carter had this past year, he’d be the first one to suggest that the Dom needed to screw another sub’s brains out to help him move past what had become an obsession. Perhaps even a few submissives if the first one didn’t take—until she was out of his system.
Somehow, over the course of this year, Jenna’s ghost had fucking neutered Carter. Not that he didn’t care for her. Hell, he loved her—or loved who he’d thought she was and had been with him—but she was gone. Mayhap if he was balls-deep in another sub, the thought of her wouldn’t cut him off at the knees.
At the Teton Roadhouse and Brewery, the hostess, a young brunette barely out of high school, seated Carter at one of the tables near the pristine bank of windows facing the main drive. It was high tourist season. The streets were lined with families and couples, milling about in search of food, entertainment, shopping. Jackson Hole made the bulk of its revenue from tourism. Yet it seemed to get busier and a bit more crowded every year. The sight made Carter wonder if Jackson Stone would make it to the club that evening—most likely, on a Friday, he’d be out patrolling the congested traffic; both foot and car.
Carter people watched a bit while he waited for his dinner
. It provided him with the opportunity to ease himself back into being more social without actually having to interact with folks just yet. Life on the Double J was sedate and secluded. Here in the heart of town it was far more active and chaotic.
The interior of the brewery had been crafted to appear like a western saloon. Everything out here had a similar décor. It meant lots of wooden floors, wooden tables. The wall bar had been erected with an eye toward the tourists. Designed and carved out of a dark mahogany, it looked like what one would have found a century past.
That was part of the charm of his hometown.
Although it was also interspersed with technology. On the walls among the western décor of buffalo and elk heads were flat screen televisions with all manner of professional sports being played on them. On the back of the menu were listed events; trivia nights and other social gatherings.
That was a little too social for his book. He liked people just fine, but most days he just didn’t have it in him to drive into town.
Carter was halfway through his porterhouse steak, a twenty-one ounce marbled beauty of a steak cooked medium rare, when he spotted a ghost. The succulent bite of meat turned to charcoal in his mouth and nearly lodged itself in his throat. Either she really was there, or his brain had finally cracked with the forced social interaction. It couldn’t be who he thought it was, but he’d recognize her silhouette anywhere.
Not willing to lose his ghost, he shoved his chair back and stood just as his waitress returned.
“Is there a problem with your meal, sir?” Becky Tanner asked. They’d gone to high school together. She was a mother of three, but still managed to waitress with the best of them.
“No, Becky. It’s perfect as usual. I just have to leave, immediately. Here, this should cover the bill and tip,” he said, handing her a hundred-dollar bill.
“What about your change?” Becky asked.
“It’s all yours. If you’ll excuse me,” he said and strode around her shocked form. Without a backward glance, he hurried out the door and shot a look down the street. Carter caught sight of a trail of blonde tresses that shimmered with the multi-faceted hues of gold, and threaded his way through the crowd.
She strode around a corner near Teton General Store. Carter cursed beneath his breath when he lost sight of her for a moment. There was no way she was getting away from him again.
It was her—had to be.
Carter’s long strides closed the distance between him and his prey. At this time of night on a Friday evening, town was packed with tourists and locals alike. His above average height gave him a distinct advantage as he trailed her movements through the throngs of people. His gaze remained trained on her as she threaded and wove through the crowd, her golden hair trailing behind her in the breeze. He remembered those tresses had felt like spun silk in his hands as they whispered against his chest when she rode him, and they were just vibrant as he remembered.
Yet, she wasn’t moving as fast as he remembered. She’d usually zipped at lightning speeds from one location to the next over the island. It caused a fingerling of doubt to wriggle in his mind.
Was it really her?
Was she really here? If so, why would she be in his town? They lived worlds away, in more ways than one. Or was he perhaps seeing ghosts because he was finally attempting to move on and now found himself following an innocent woman?
That wouldn’t end well if that was the case.
And Spencer and the boys would die laughing at the tale. Jackson would joke that he’d have to arrest him for harassing an innocent woman. If anyone found out, it would put a chink in Carter’s reputation and standing in the community. While he might be a Dominant, as far as the rest of the world knew he was lily white and a good old boy. Business associates wanted to purchase trail horses from him, not hear about the latest bondage technique. Or that he preferred his women bound and restrained while he paddled their asses before he fucked them.
Which was something he had every intention of doing with Jenna once he got his hands on her again. For every sleepless night during which he’d replayed the events on the island. For every time he’d fisted his cock and developed callouses masturbating to her memory. And for the chance to feel her come undone beneath his hands once more.
Her steps segued away from the main hub of town into the more residential section. Not that Jackson Hole was an overly large city by any measure. It was really more of a blip; the nearest large city was Cheyenne a few hours south. On their trek, not once had she turned or looked over her shoulder in his direction. It was like she was in her own little world, hefting two reusable grocery bags from Lucy’s Market.
He just hoped like hell it wasn’t a case of mistaken identity.
She stopped at a duplex building. Really, the structure was nothing more than an oversized home that had been split into two residences. So, clearly, if it was Jenna, she was living here in Jackson Hole. Why? Not that he was one to complain if it was her. If it was, he’d be elated for the chance to get some answers. Like why she’d fallen off the face of the earth only to end up in his town. The exterior of the duplex was finished in a deep, dark, cherry-colored wood, much darker than his ranch house but with the log cabin rustic theme that a majority of the homes in the area tended to have. His intended target climbed the wooden set of stairs up to the second-floor dwelling.
Gotcha!
She was no sooner inside the front door than Carter took the wooden stairs two at a time. At the top of the stairs he drew in a deep, calming breath. To be this close after so much despair these past months. This was what he’d been waiting on for almost a year. A chance to see her again—hold her, paddle her fucking ass for ever leaving him, and bury his aching cock inside her welcoming heat.
Or he was mistaken and had just followed a strange woman—who could have passed for Jenna’s twin—all the way home. If so, he would apologize profusely and leave at the soonest opportunity.
Lifting his hand, he curled his fingers around the brass knocker and banged it twice. If it was Jenna, what was she doing here? Why hadn’t she sought him out? How long had she been in Jackson? A myriad number of questions ran through his mind as he waited for her to answer the front door.
The oaken door opened, the hinges creaking in protest at the movement. Sunlight from the setting sun bathed her visage in gold. And the pent-up breath he’d been holding expelled in a rush.
Jenna.
A smile spread over his face and a part of himself that had been missing these past long months slid back into place. His eyes roamed over her, drinking in the sight of her standing so close.
“Well, well, darlin’, fancy seeing you here,” Carter purred, stunned at finding Jenna in his own backyard. She was so fucking beautiful. Her face was devoid of artifice. Those cornflower blue eyes of hers were framed by thick golden tipped lashes. Her bow shaped mouth, her top heavy upper lip still the plump delight he remembered. How often had he imagined those lips on his cock? Remembered how good her mouth had felt sucking him down.
Shock riddled her frame. She blinked at him like a doe caught in his truck’s headlights, like she couldn’t believe he was standing on her doorstep. She could have been a statue for all her movement.
Well, the shock was mutual. He also felt the lust roaring in his ears. He hadn’t wanted another woman since her. None had engendered a response in him like Jenna did. It was crazy that he could desire her, crave to have her writhing beneath him as he buried himself in her seductive heat, but he did, like he wanted air to breathe. There was a part of Carter that wanted to hoist her over his shoulder, head to the nearest bed, tie her down, and not let her up until she confessed her transgressions and he’d finally fucked her out of his system.
The problem was, he’d tried that once on the island, and had lost more than just his head.
“Carter. What do you want?” Jenna asked defensively. Her hand gripped the door like she was ready to slam it in his face. He’d love to see her try to push him aw
ay now that he’d found her again. It would give him an excuse to put his hands on her. Carter could recall with startling clarity the way she’d stared at him when he’d left the villa. The tears that had suffused her bright blue gaze. The sky above his ranch at midday always reminded him of her eyes. Then again, he’d seen her everywhere and in everything he did. Except today, the warmth and welcome that used to flow from her were conspicuously absent, replaced by trepidation and a lingering hint of fear.
If anything, she was more beautiful, her delicate cheekbones more pronounced. Her bow shaped mouth pursed in annoyance at his interruption. Her hair looked longer. Her knockout body left him hungering to feel her wrapped around him, her pillowy breasts smooshed against his chest while he sank himself inside her.
Why the hell would she be afraid of him? She’d never cowered during their week together. Quite the opposite, in fact: she’d challenged him, gone toe to toe with him repeatedly, and left an imprint on his heart and soul.
“To know why you’re here,” he replied. Using his size and body to his advantage, he pressed forward—not waiting for an invite he surmised would never come—and entered her home. Jenna backed away as he pushed his way inside her apartment. He took in the quaint living room. The hardwood floors and furniture were clean, but everything had a sheen to it, a worn quality. The rocking chair in the corner looked as if at any minute it would give up and collapse. The couch’s stuffing appeared misshapen, the seating bowing inward a bit, although the faded sea green fabric was clean. And it was cozy in a purely feminine way, with a few knickknacks and a small television near the fireplace. A forgotten coffee mug sat on a small wooden end table. There were splashes of color, bright blue and green decorative pillows on the couch, that gave the appearance that she wasn’t just passing through.