His Wicked Love

by Anya Summers

  The lodge was comfortable and homey. She adored her sous chef, Tibby, and her line cook, Faith. And the wait staff was exceptional. Even her frustrating run ins with Mason were worth being here.

  If she could just get past her obsession and the frankly unwelcome lust she felt for her boss, then everything would be perfect. Two days ago, she’d run into town and stocked her kitchen cupboard and refrigerator. She’d gone a teensy bit overboard on the Little Debbie and Hostess snack cakes.

  And why had she done that? Because she’d seen Mason astride a horse. He was leading a trail ride and had a contingent of riders in line behind him. She’d spied him from the bank of windows inside the restaurant. His tall, firm body commanded the twelve-hundred-pound midnight black stallion with ease. Man and horse had worked in sinuous unity. A hunger unlike anything she’d felt before had set up camp. Her hormones blasted into overdrive. Emily had never been into country music. She’d never considered she would be panting after a man in jeans and a cowboy hat. But damn. Upon seeing Mason in his element, his focus and control evident, his confidence and pure alpha maleness on display as he sat astride the horse, all her girly bits had promptly swooned.

  She’d watched him, unabashed, fanning herself with a menu, and then nearly fainted in truth when his head swiveled in her direction and he’d stared at her through the glass. Shadows from the wide brim of his Stetson had played with the angles of his handsome face. He’d not shaved again, and the patch of stubble lining his jaw made him appear more dangerous, more potent, just more everything. Their gazes held. The world around them could have been falling into disrepair, the Yellowstone super volcano could have been erupting and they wouldn’t have known it, thanks to the supercharged kinetic currents flowing between them.

  Even with the distance and the pane of glass between them, the connection was incontrovertible. She felt it and knew in that precise moment that he did as well. It shifted her paradigm. They were both fighting their attraction toward one another. The question was, why? What if she stopped fighting? Would the fire between them char them both until they were unrecognizable? Would they burn bright, only to have the flame extinguish in cataclysmic destruction?

  Until Mason broke the sensual, intoxicating spell and tipped his hat at her. Then he turned away, man and horse moving as one, leading the group onto a trail and into the wild. She’d stood rooted to the spot until he and his group disappeared beyond a bend.

  Emily had melted into a chair, staring out the window as she’d worked at containing the simmering lust pounding through her system.

  During her town excursion the following day, Emily had stockpiled snack cakes as if the apocalypse were about to begin. Realistically, she understood deep down it was better that she soothe her sexual frustration with the chocolate and crème of a ding dong instead of propositioning Mason and doing what she really wanted, which was to affix her mouth to various parts of his body. However, that didn’t mean she didn’t have to be careful that she didn’t overindulge, otherwise her jeans would no longer fit.

  Tonight, she’d finished early in the restaurant, with Faith and Tibby promising to close up. Since many of the guests tended to head into downtown Jackson Hole to enjoy the nightlife on the weekends, the Elkhorn had been a little slower. Both Faith and Tibby had assured her it was normal. Sales for the restaurant had increased steadily day by day. That had to count as a feather in her cap.

  But she wasn’t going to celebrate just yet. She knew that often the newness of a restaurant or a chef could be a draw or attraction that would bring people in hordes initially, and then they would taper off once the sheen had evaporated. This first week had been good, the numbers solid. She had some ideas she wanted to run by Mason to help increase sales. And while she understood that the stubborn man would give her a hard time, she just needed to fine tune a few details. If she showed him what the potential bottom line could be, as in profits made, he might be a bit more amenable. Plus, it could solidify her position there enough that he would give her a contract extension past the thirty days.

  With October a week away, she really wanted to host an Oktoberfest event at the Elkhorn, with beer, brats, handmade pretzels and Wiener schnitzel and the like. It would be challenging to pull off an event like that so quickly. But if they limited the number of tickets for the event, it could be manageable. And there was another, much more long-term idea she had—one she’d wanted to do at La Vida, but Chef Ormond didn’t want plebian pedestrians in his kitchens. Perhaps, if she did one successfully, Mason would trust her with the other.

  Instead of burrowing into her cabin that evening, she headed into downtown Jackson Hole. Emily wanted to get a lay of the land outside of life on the lodge. Not that she didn’t find it utterly charming—she did, more than she’d believed she would. However, if she made it past the trial run, winter would descend shortly thereafter. She had an image of herself nearly hibernating at the lodge until spring. She was a Southern Cali girl, unused to the cold and the snow. The atmosphere of Jackson Hole was euphoric and catching.

  It was eight on a Friday evening, and she strolled along the main drive. Store shop signs flashed and illuminated the darkening twilight. Emily window-shopped as she walked. Along the central hub of the town, most of the shops catered to tourists. But she got ideas for her restaurant when she spied fliers for different events around town.

  Emily passed families, couples holding hands, and an elderly couple people watching on a bench outside the general store. A toddler cried at being denied a treat and a group of women excitedly chattered over their purchases. Emily sampled some out of this world ice cream from a local shop that apparently made their ice cream in shop. It was heavenly bliss in a waffle cone. She savored it, delight and pleasure filling her at the creamy, minty sugar rush, while she ambled along the sidewalk.

  It struck her then that this could be a place where she would be happy. As much as she loved her family and her hometown, she’d never fit in there. But here, with the rhythm of the town, the pace of the lodge, the openness, the purity of the air, and even her attraction to her boss, she was comfortable. She didn’t feel as out of her element as she’d worried she would feel in a new place. She’d barely been there a week, but she’d already wondered if she could make the Elkhorn hers. Become a partner in it at some point. Make it her place that food critics and foodies from around the world would travel to just to sample her cooking.

  Those were big dreams. Some of it was ego, she understood that. When you’ve spent a lifetime having your family look at you with disappointment and confusion over your choice of career, there’s a need to prove yourself. To be able to say, See? I made it.

  And yet there was also a part of it that she’d been envisioning since she was a child. Her passion for cooking, for having her own place, was a lifelong dream that might actually be within her grasp. It was terrifying and thrilling all in the same breath. It was also another reason why she needed a saner head around Mason. As much as the man made her mouth water and her girly bits dance a two-step, giving in to her urges would be a death knell on her dreams.

  There were restaurants she passed on her trek with aromas so intoxicatingly delicious, she knew she’d have to return and sample their food. Hence her need to walk tonight. While her job did make it so that she was on her feet and moving constantly, her love of food was not always conducive to her waistline. Out here, though, the mountain air tasted fresh and clean, and she was already making plans to purchase hiking boots and maybe a backpack. Perhaps Cole could take her on one of the trails and show her where to go. There was no smog to contend with, or traffic jams the length of a marathon.

  Here, in this town, and this place, the possibilities were endless.

  Then she spied the neon illuminated sign for the Teton Cowboy. She’d overheard Faith and Tibby discussing the bar the other day. When she had asked them about it, they’d said it was the place to visit in town if you were looking for a good time. Perhaps that was what she needed to turn
her salacious intentions away from Mason. While she wasn’t a huge fan of one-night stands, it certainly wouldn’t be the worst idea she’d ever had. Especially if it helped dispel the lustful obsession she had with her boss. With a mission in mind to find a new cowboy to lust after and have rowdy, pulse-pounding sex with, she meandered in its direction.

  And if she didn’t find anyone appealing, she could come back tomorrow night, or the next night she had free, until she did locate a replacement.

  Emily strode across the road with other tourists. The external building front had been constructed with slate gray stone that resembled the color of the nearby mountains. There was a dark cherry wooden trim porch and front overhang. At the street corner was a double door entry made of wood and glass. The club’s symbol, a cowboy on a bucking bronco, was etched into the glass.

  She entered the Teton Cowboy and grinned. This place was beyond cool and packed to the brim. Country music played over loud speakers. The din of conversations filled the air. The scent of fried food and distilled spirits tickled her senses. Emily was a sucker for bar food.

  Her stomach grumbled. She shouldn’t be that hungry. Granted, a mint chocolate chip waffle cone wasn’t really a decent meal. But here she’d risk gravely adding to her calorie count with cheese fries or something equally damaging to her waistline.

  Emily felt like she’d stepped into the Wild West with the décor. They had—she couldn’t believe it—a stuffed black bear and a stuffed mountain lion on display. There was a wall bar that had to be a good fifty feet in length. She found an empty barstool, which was far and away the most unique feature in the bar, because the barstools were saddles. As in: giddy up, little doggy, fully fledged horse saddles, with stirrups for her feet. The bar was a lake of glossy golden wood with brass trim and fixtures. There were chandeliers made to look like wagon wheels with glass cylinders on top that resembled the old style kerosene lanterns. Even the bulbs inside were shaped like a flame.

  In the crowded haze, she flagged one of the bartenders, who looked every inch a cowboy, from the top of his Stetson to the tip of his boots and everything in between. The blond stud, Jeremiah, flirted with her as he took her order. He was yummy, if a bit younger than she was looking for. She kept her order simple—a beer and, okay, she caved and got an order of cheese fries. But hey, if she was going to drink she needed something more substantial than ice cream. Otherwise, she’d never make it home.

  Emily stuffed herself with the cheese fries. They were so good and hit every single one of her taste buds and pleasure sensors. She’d have to come back and sample some of the other menu items. The cowboy burger smothered in barbeque sauce with fried onion strings, in particular. Emily ordered a second beer, enjoying the comfortable warmth of a full belly. She paid her tab with every intention of leaving once she finished her second beer of the night.

  She realized she was failing in her mission. But she could chalk tonight up to a bit of reconnaissance and could come back more prepared another night.

  The two beers had mellowed her out. Sad, really, that what she wanted now was her pajamas and to cuddle in bed. She was such a party animal. It was barely ten and she was ready to turn in. Though, to be fair, she did have to be up at five in the morning to start on her pastries.

  She swallowed a sip from her beer bottle and spied Cole walking through the room. She smiled and didn’t swivel in her seat so much as dismount the thing. Taking her purse and beer bottle with her she followed him, winding through the crowd, enjoying the interested stares of some of the cowboys she passed. At least, she hoped it was interest and not because she had a smear of melted cheese somewhere on her person. Which, in her case, was totally feasible and a more likely outcome than not.

  She hurried, trying to catch Cole as he walked through a door marked private. Curious, she caught the door before it closed and followed him down the stairs.

  Whoa-ho-ho, what did we have down here? Another level? In the basement of this place?

  She reached the bottom of the stairs and was about to call out Cole’s name. It was on the tip of her tongue, but then she heard it. The moans. As in: plural. As if drawn on marionette strings, she entered a secondary bar.

  The cowboy theme persisted, but that was where any similarity to the bar upstairs ended. There was another wall bar that was half the size of the one upstairs. The barstools were saddles like they had in the main bar area, but she spied silver loops in various positions that were puzzling. Areas were cordoned off with black velvet rope along the walls, with weird looking items of furniture behind them.

  There was a seating area with brown leather couches and a smattering of gothic style furniture. The one that shocked her, and where some of the moans originated, was a mechanical bull in the center of the club. A woman was riding it. A very naked woman. Emily stared, not understanding why the women in here were in various stages of undress. The men had lost their shirts too. And she finally realized why the brunette riding the bull was moaning up a storm. There appeared to be a mechanical dildo she was riding as the bull moved.

  With shaky hands, Emily set her beer down on a nearby table. Her face flamed with heat at the blatant, kinky scene.

  She glanced around, not certain what to think or to feel. The buzz of alcohol and warmth pooled in her groin. Behind one of the velvet ropes, a blonde was restrained to a large wooden X and the man with her was—Emily blushed—actually screwing her out in the open.

  What was this place? It was like a cornucopia for wicked deeds. She wished she could say she wasn’t affected by it. But she was. And, dammit, she imagined it was Mason doing naughty things to her.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” A rough hand closed around her bicep and jerked her around.

  Speak of the devil and he appeared. She stared up into Mason’s furious face.

  “It’s a free country. I followed Cole down here and—”

  “You will leave now. This is a private club and you don’t belong here,” he snarled, his face an inch from hers. His caramel eyes blazed with an indescribable fury. His face was a harsh mask, his lips firmly compressed into a thin line.

  Perhaps it was the liquid courage combined with startling need, but he pressed her hot buttons—and not in the right way.

  “Make me,” she dared, incensed at the way he was treating her. Mason didn’t own her just because she worked for him. She could go wherever she damn well pleased, and there was nothing he could say or do about it. It didn’t help that being so near him, after what she’d witnessed in this lower level, made desire chug in her veins. Moans filled the air around them.

  At her flippant response, his nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed to angry slits. And that was the only warning she received before he bent his torso, slung her over his shoulder, and carted her bodily from the club. Her face smacked into his back as he ascended the stairs. She screeched in fury while trying to hold her purse and not puke up her basket of cheese fries. It would serve him right if she did.

  One of his big hands whacked against her rear at her struggles, and he snapped, “Settle the fuck down.”

  “Or you’ll what? Unhand me, you freaking baboon,” she swore. Patrons’ laughter reached her ears, humiliating her further as they walked the main floor. She was going to give this man a piece of her mind the moment she was no longer upside-down and viewing the world from the wrong angle.

  Blood rushed into her head. His strong shoulder pressed into her belly and made it difficult to draw in a breath. And through the thick tangle of her hair she had a prime view of his mighty fine behind. Muscular and firm, the jeans he wore defined the shape. It was a rear a woman could hold on to.

  His hand was clamped around her thigh near her sex. Too near. As in, if she wriggled her hips the right way, his fingers would be pressed against her center. Emily stilled at the wicked sensations his touch ignited in her blood. Mason didn’t stop his forward progression until they exited out onto the street. The sound of country music and murmur of voices dimm
ed. Night closed in around them.

  “Which way is your car parked?” he demanded, his hand squeezing her thigh. None too gently, either.

  Emily tensed at the unwelcome desire that scorched her foundation at his intimate touch. Angry and humiliated at being hauled around like a sack of potatoes, she bit him on the back. Hard.

  “Yeow! Fuck, Emily,” Mason said, his fingers digging painfully into her thigh. And then her world was righted as he forcefully dropped her onto her feet. She wobbled, her center of gravity off from having her world turned upside down. His hands gripped her biceps to steady her.

  “Back off,” she seethed, glaring at him and wrenching her arms from his grasp. She was incensed at the way he’d manhandled her. Night had fallen and the temperature had chilled while she’d been inside. She crossed her arms in front of her chest to ward off the nippy air. Where the hell did he get off?

  “I’m going to make sure you get in your car and leave. I won’t allow you to go back into the club,” he replied with a determined glint in his gaze.

  Damn fool, pig-headed Neanderthal.

  Emily gave him the stink-eye, not wavering from her stance. She wanted him to back the hell off. Wanted the desire currently hijacking her system to go away. Who the hell did Mason think he was, her overlord? With the Teton Cowboy’s neon lights illuminating his gruff features, blocking out the swarms of pedestrians walking by them, realization settled in. He wasn’t going to move, wasn’t going to bend, and damn him, but that added fuel to her internal furnace belching out enough heat to melt the nearby glaciers.

  Instead of allowing the stalemate from their little glaring contest to continue, because something told Emily they would be here all night, she finally relented. “Fine. This way.”