Hard Ride: A Cowboy Romance Page 4

  “My top,” she says.

  “What about it?”

  “It’s not here,” she whispers, like she’s realized the gravity of this situation at just this moment. “It’s in your kitchen. I think you threw it into the sink.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake.” I run a hand through my hair. The options we have are limited as hell. She could come downstairs in one of my shirts, but then if Cy came into the kitchen—

  “Stay here. Stay here, and don’t make a sound.”

  She nods, a hand going to her mouth.

  I thunder down the stairs. “Coming,” I shout, letting a hint of irritation seep into my voice. If it’s not Cy, I might lose a customer, but if it is...

  There’s another round of furious pounding on the door. “Luke, open the damn door. I know you’re in there.”

  It’s Cy.

  I go to the door, letting my feet fall heavily on the wooden floor, hopefully covering any hint that there’s another person inside the house. “What do you want?” I shout back.

  “Open the door.” The handle rattles. “Why in blazes is your front door locked? Were you robbed?”

  I flip the lock and pull the door open. “No. What do you want?”

  Cy looks me up and down. “Hell of a greeting from a man who considers you his best friend.”

  “Good morning. What do you want?”

  “That’s better.” Cy steps into the foyer without being invited, exactly like I thought he would. “Listen—I know you love our back and forth, but I’ve got a question to ask.”

  “That why you beat down my door?” I make a show of checking the door for damage.

  “I held myself back this time,” Cy says. “Listen, have you seen Isabel?”

  I screw up my nose, thinking about it. “Told her to head on out of here the other day when she showed up.” Then I look Cy in the eye. “Speaking of that, what in fresh hell were you thinking, sending her here?”

  He shrugs, eyes scanning over the interior of the house, which he has seen at least a million times in his life by this point. “She’s good at what she does.”

  This is absolutely true, but Cy doesn’t need to know the details. “Saw her the other day. That’s all I can tell you.”

  His eyes settle on my face, a steady gaze that lasts a bit longer than I’m comfortable with, frankly. “She hasn’t stopped by again?”

  I reach out and take Cy by the shoulder, pushing him back toward the door. “What are you, the Spanish Inquisition? I haven’t seen her.”

  Out on the porch, Cy shoves his hands into his pockets. “She wasn’t there this morning when I woke up. It seemed weird, that she’d be gone like that.” My heart thuds against my rib cage. “Hey, if you see her, tell her she should leave a note next time, would you?”

  “No.”

  Cy laughs. “Why not?”

  “You know as well as I do that she’d tell me I’m not her mother and ignore every word out of my mouth.”

  “I guess so.” Cy puts a hand to the back of his neck and looks around my yard. Can he sense her footprints on the front lawn? Jesus, this is stressful. “All right. I’ll see you, Luke.” He jogs down the steps of the front porch and ambles off across the front yard. A few paces away, he turns back. “Hey, Luke?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t be too hard on her,” he says. “She’s a real pro.”

  I give him a nod, though truth be told? I already went hard on her.

  And she loved it.

  I step inside and close the door behind me.

  “Is he gone?” Isabel’s voice is so close, it just about makes me jump out of my skin.

  “Holy Christ. You cannot sneak up on people like that.”

  She bites her lip, grinning. “Lesson learned,” she says, and then she comes close, rising on tiptoes to press a kiss against my cheekbone. “I’m borrowing your shirt, okay?” The plaid shirt of mine that she's wearing hangs down to just below her ass, and I’m seized with the urge to lift it up, bend her over, and take her again.

  “Fine.” I’m suddenly hyperaware of how close Cy came to busting us, and it makes me uneasy. “You going to head out?”

  “I think I had better,” Isabel says. “I think I can beat him home.” She peers out to the yard, checking to make sure that Cy is really gone, and then she slips out through the front door.

  “Remember what I taught you,” I call after her. “I hope you learned your lesson.”

  “I did,” she calls back, and jogs off through the side yard, naughty as ever.

  10

  Luke

  Conducting the tours Isabel booked take up the better part of the day, and by the end of it, my muscles are aching. I thought I’d been keeping up with the work as well as I could. I was wrong. I haven’t been riding nearly enough, and it almost makes me want to believe that if I keep up with riding, it’ll bring more customers without Isabel’s gimmicks.

  I fall into bed that night and sleep comes over me the moment my head hits the pillow. A deep, refreshing sleep, dotted with dreams about her.

  About her body. About her moans. About the way she felt around me. I wake up in a tangle of blankets, the rising sun streaming through the bedroom window.

  I’m rock hard.

  And there’s no Isabel in bed with me.

  I’ve got a whole day of work ahead and I can’t let this distract me, so I stumble into the shower and brace myself against the tiled wall while I fist my cock, the memory of how wet she got a vivid movie in my brain.

  It’s almost enough to sate me.

  Almost.

  But it’ll have to do, because I need supplies. The newly booked tours wiped out my inventory of bottles of water and the little cookies I give out at the end, a touch my uncle came up with. I used to think it was bullshit, but now that people are coming in, I’m not going to take any chances.

  I start up the car and cruise into town. It’s a damn beautiful morning. Been a while since I noticed the way the light looks at this hour of the day. Been even longer since I appreciated it. You know, the world’s not all bad. Things could be a lot worse.

  The grocery store is on the opposite end of town, so I take Main Street, the way I always do. I’ve driven this road at least a thousand times, maybe a million.

  This time, it’s a little different.

  Normally, I don’t notice the gazebo in the middle of the town square.

  Today, I don’t have any choice.

  A giant sign promoting the Rider Ranch logo is propped up in front of the gazebo, and next to it—

  Isabel didn’t learn her lesson.

  She’s not wearing the bikini bottoms anymore. She traded them out for a pair of Daisy Dukes that hug the curve of her ass, inviting everybody to look. The morning crowd is out in force, all visiting the single local coffee joint, and there she is, smiling and waving, holding a clipboard in her hands.

  My stomach flips. This is worse than yesterday. Yesterday she was standing in front of my place, far enough from town that she couldn’t do much damage.

  This is even worse.

  A flash of jealousy heats my spine. Everybody and their brother is looking at her right now. The bikini top makes it impossible to look anywhere but at her luscious breasts. That view should be mine alone.

  “Damn it,” I say under my breath. I have no claim to her. None at all. But I do have a claim to my business, and I told her not to do this—

  I pull my car into a spot on the outer edge of the park and turn off the engine with a sharp twist of the key. I’m out in an instant, slamming the door shut behind me and stalking toward the gazebo.

  Some asshole is signing his name on her clipboard as I approach, but I wait, like a decent human, until he’s gone.

  “Morning,” Isabel says, with a cheeky grin that I find both infuriating and tantalizing.

  “Come down off of there,” I tell her flatly. “You’ve done enough.”

  “You have no right to tell me what to do,” she says, a g
lint in her eye that makes him want to throw her over my shoulder and take her to bed.

  “This is my business,” I insist, trying my damndest not to look like I’m insisting. I can’t be the asshole standing downtown and putting her in her place. That kind of thing is for the bedroom. “And anyone can see you, standing here like that.”

  “So what?” Isabel is so confident, radiating a filthy sweetness I can’t get enough of, and I swear to Christ it’s all for the purpose of driving me crazy. Of driving everybody crazy. And they don’t deserve to own this particular insanity.

  “I don’t like it,” I growl.

  “I’d say that doesn’t matter much.” She waves at someone behind me, her hair catching the morning sun. You know what? I might throw her over my shoulder anyway. I just might do it.

  “You’re telling me that after all that—”

  “All what?”

  “After all that yesterday, oh, Luke, it’s you—”

  That gets her attention. Her cheeks blaze red. “You can’t use my own emotions against me.”

  “The hell I can,” I tell her. “You’re doing the same damn thing. Stop playing games, Isabel. What do you want out of this?”

  “Customers,” she fires back. “Customers for Rider Ranch.”

  “Bullshit. Why are you standing out here in that get-up?” I could reach out right now and stroke my thumb down her inner thigh. “Tell me before I haul you out of here.”

  “Haul me out of here?” She laughs. “What are you going to do, hogtie me and put me in the trunk of your car?”

  “I’d put you in the backseat, but you’ve got the general idea.”

  “How many tours did you give yesterday?”

  Well, shit. “Six.”

  “Then what reason could you possibly have to argue with me?”

  Another surge of protectiveness presses in on my throat. “I thought you understood what I was telling you. This isn’t the way to go about getting customers.”

  “Your way isn’t working.”

  “This also isn’t the place to discuss this.” I look around, and thankfully see no sign of Cy. If he catches wind of this, it’ll be a knock-down, drag-out confrontation. “Since you clearly need some more instruction.”

  “I’ll be free at noon,” Isabel says, raising a hand to her eyes to shield them from the sun.

  It’s too much. “You’ll be free now.”

  “Noon,” she insists, and that’s when I decide to take action.

  11

  Isabel

  Luke looks up at me, nods once, and wraps his arms right around my legs, hauling me bodily off the gazebo and throwing me over his muscled shoulder like a damsel being dragged off by a pirate. At first, I can’t believe he’s done this, so it takes me a minute to catch my breath. Plus, now I’ve got my ass up in the air in front of everyone in town, so that’s graceful.

  “Hey!” I shout, slapping him with my clipboard. “This is kidnapping. You can’t do this.”

  He laughs. “Look at you. You want to be the one calling the shots, but you can’t take it when—”

  I kick my legs, but he only tightens his grip. Since he’s a gentleman, he doesn’t pat my ass, but I bet he wants to. I lift my head up. The town square has been mostly quiet this morning, but right now is when people start to stream in for the morning. Worst of all, the only coffee shop in the city is right across from the park with the gazebo. It’s the busiest place of all, and you can bet that we’re starting to draw attention. An old man sitting at one of the sidewalk tables lifts his sunglasses to stare, and I thump Luke on the back with my clipboard again. “People are watching,” I hiss.

  It was one thing to stand on the gazebo in eye-catching shorts and a bikini top. It’s another to be carried out of here like this, and—shit. Everybody has phones these days. All it would take is one picture sent back home to my uptight boss at the marketing firm, and I’m screwed. And not in the nice way.

  “People have been looking at you all morning,” he says, strolling across the park. “You never cared then.”

  “You cared.” I try to twist myself upright, but Luke is too strong. He’s got all the muscles of somebody who works on a ranch all day, and I’ve got the muscles of someone who usually skips Pilates class. My abs won’t rally to save me now. Every time I get a little purchase, Luke tosses me back over his shoulder again. He’s relentless.

  “Yep,” he says. “That’s why I had to put a stop to it.”

  “You can’t tell me what to do,” I say insolently, even though I know he can tell me what to do. In fact, the dark space between my legs heats up at the thought of him telling me what to do. It was just yesterday that I was an obedient, panting mess in his bedroom.

  “I think we’re past telling,” Luke says.

  I twist to the other side. He’s heading for his car—his old, beat-up deathtrap of a car. “Where are you taking me?”

  “Don’t know yet. Home, probably.”

  “My house or yours?”

  He shakes his head. “Isabel, if you wanted to come to my house, you didn’t have to show yourself off to everybody in town.”

  “The hell I did. You never even saw me before—”

  “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to stop.”

  Luke does, right on the edge of the sidewalk. We’re five feet from his car.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Luke says, “I’ve got some business to take care of.”

  “I can’t let you do that.” The other voice is sincere, if a little shaky.

  With a laugh under his breath, Luke bends his knees and deposits me on the sidewalk.

  “My God.” I brush at my bikini top and resist the urge to stick out my tongue at Luke. “You couldn’t have escorted me like a lady?”

  “You weren’t acting like one,” Luke retorts, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the other man, who’s planted his feet in the middle of the sidewalk.

  And oh, he’s cute. I’d never use that word to describe Luke Rider, but this guy? Awww. He’s tall and lanky, and he’s wearing what’s probably his first pair of cowboy boots. A tourist on vacation and doing his best to play the part. His face is chalk white, but he stands with his feet wide apart, arms crossed in front of his chest.

  “Is—” He swallows hard. “Is everything all right here?”

  “Of course it is.” Luke narrows his eyes, and not for the first time I drink in the broad, muscled expanse of his shoulders under his work shirt. “You think I’m the type to kidnap unwilling victims in broad daylight?”

  It’s probably not the most helpful thing he could have said. “I don’t...That doesn’t sound like...”

  “We’re okay.” I step in front of Luke and give the knight in shining armor a broad smile. “He was just...kidding.”

  “I was not kidding,” Luke insists. “Did you see her standing up on that gazebo? The woman wouldn’t listen to reason.”

  All I hear in Luke’s voice is a raw need saddled with the guilt of knowing I’m off-limits, but my White Knight doesn’t know what to make of it. “Sir,” he says, his voice wavering even more. “You can’t do this.”

  Luke is finished with the conversation—it couldn’t be more clear. He steps around me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Time to go.”

  White Knight takes in a deep breath and steps in front of us, raising one palm. Stop.

  Luke looks him up and down. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I have to intervene.” He looks like he has to throw up, but good on this guy. “I can’t let you take this lady to God knows where under these circumstances—”

  “The circumstances where she’s ruining my business?”

  “Saving your business, more like,” I retort.

  “Step out of the way,” Luke says. “You’re blocking my path to the car.”

  “Not until you let her go.”

  Luke looks over at me. “She’s on the ground. What more do you want?”

  “I want you to step away fro
m her.” He’s got freckles. This guy—this cowboy from out of town—he’s got freckles. He’s also wearing a vest. It hangs loosely from his waist, a few spare inches here and there.

  “By Christ,” Luke says. “Who are you, anyway? You’re starting to drive me crazy, blocking the way like that.” He’s starting to posture, to draw himself up to his full height, and I’d rather see him like that in the bedroom than on the street.

  “Sir,” the guy says again, and he moves his hand ever so slightly toward his waistband.

  That’s when I see the gun.

  12

  Luke

  Isabel turns on her heel, takes my shirt in her fists, and pulls me down so hard I almost topple into her. The clipboard falls to the sidewalk with a clap and a clack. “What in—?”

  She cuts me off with her mouth on mine, hot as Hades and tasting like sin, and I’ll be damned. I thought I’d been hard looking at her in those Daisy Dukes. She jumps up, using my neck for leverage and wrapping her legs clear around my waist, and I’m sure I’m not imagining it—the way she wriggles her hips against the front of my jeans, making enough contact to command all my attention without giving me what I want.

  Which is her. Naked. In my bed.

  But this—this is not the time or the place.

  I try to pull away. “Isabel, what are you—?”

  “No.” She leans forward and nips my bottom lip between her teeth, sending a shock of pain twisted up with pleasure down to the base of my spine.

  “No, what?”

  “No talking,” she says, and it’s like we’re not standing in the middle of downtown, all of these shenanigans framed nicely by the gazebo.

  It would be even better if I could lose myself in her, but with every moment that passes, the outside world presses in, suffocating, around me. Traffic is starting to pick up. The sun is warm, then it becomes hot on the back of my neck. And that jackass is still blocking the way to my car like he owns this sidewalk.

  All that and Isabel, grinding her hips into me like there’s no tomorrow. And there won’t be a tomorrow, if anybody sees us. Or God forbid, gets a photo. How am I supposed to invite people to a ranch for nice mountain tours if they get the wrong idea about Isabel?