Betting on Grace (2 page)

Lane managed to move without slowing his pace,
continuing to thrust into Gracie as their mouths fused together, Gracie’s arms
banding around Lane’s neck.

Not wanting to be left behind, Grant gripped his dick
with one hand, Lane’s hip with the other, and pushed his way inside Lane. Only
when he had breached the tight ring of muscle did Lane stop moving altogether.

“Oh, fuck yes, Grant. Oh, yes, deeper. I want you
balls-deep inside me.”

Grant loved when Lane spoke during sex. He wasn’t just
motivated by the words that Lane said but how he
said
them. There was so
much passion and longing in the man’s tone, Grant felt it deep in his soul.
Then again, everything about Lane had captivated Grant. There was something
about Lane, something that had pulled Grant in and held him there. He wanted to
say it was love that he felt for both of them, but he’d yet to accept that
fully. There were countless reasons he was hesitant to acknowledge that this
could possibly turn into something more than just casual sex.

Right. Like
anything
about this was casual.

But now was not the time to think about that.

Lane’s tight ass gripped him, pulling him deeper,
making him sweat. There was no way he was going to last long.

“Fuck me, Grant,” Lane commanded. “Fuck me. Oh, damn,
that’s good. Grant, I… I need you…”

Grant aimed to please, so when Gracie began to move,
rocking her hips forward, Grant withdrew before sliding back inside the
scalding-hot recesses of Lane’s body.

“You feel so good,” Grant growled, gripping Lane’s
hips, the lean muscle flexing beneath his palms. “I’m not gonna last.”

Lane grunted, but he didn’t say a word, his body
straining as Grant drove into him, lodging him deeper inside of Gracie.

When Lane shifted his legs wider, allowing Grant
better access, Grant took advantage of the new position, driving his hips
forward as he began to pound into Lane over and over while Lane used the
momentum of Grant’s thrusts to slam into Gracie’s pussy.

Feeling the indicative tingle that signaled his
inability to stem his release any longer, Grant knew it was time to fast track
this or he was going to go solo.

Planting one hand on Lane’s strong back, Grant slowed,
tipping forward and sliding his other hand between Gracie and Lane, seeking her
clit. When he found the little bundle of nerves, he used his thumb to massage
it until she was crying out their names, begging them both to make her come.
Lane, as usual, wasn’t just a bystander, proving it when he shoved Grant’s hand
away and took over, leaving Grant with the ability to send them all careening
into the abyss as he began to pound Lane’s tight ass over and over.

When Gracie cried out her release, Lane followed not
long after; then, and only then, did Grant let go, his cock pulsing deep inside
of Lane’s ass. He fought the urge to fall forward, not wanting to crush Gracie
beneath them.

He remained just like that for several moments, his
chest heaving, his head still spinning from the intensity of his climax.

“Time for a shower?” Gracie asked, her tone heavy with
exhaustion.

“Not sure I can move,” Lane answered.

“Not sure I
want
to move,” Gracie admitted,
making Grant smile again.

Yeah, he knew the feeling. If he had his way, he was
pretty sure he’d spend the rest of his life just like this.

August, one month later

Monday morning

“Where’re you headed?” Lane Miller hollered from the
south end of Dead Heat Ranch’s main barn.

Lane had walked into the enormous steel building just
in time to see, through a hazy dust-mote stream lit by the rays from the
early-morning sun, Grant Kingsley high-tailing it across the marred concrete
floor. Grant was moving like his ass was on fire, which was, quite frankly, a
sight to see.

With the sound of Lane’s heavy footsteps resounding
off the metal walls, a few goats bleating their morning greeting, and the scent
of manure and hay flooding his nostrils, Lane picked up his pace, attempting to
keep up with Grant before he hit the wide-open double doors on the opposite end.

Lane was halfway across the barn when he noticed that,
in his haste to ensnare the hunky cowboy trying to evade him, he had captured
the attention of Budweiser, one of the three Labrador retrievers that lived on
the ranch. The charming black dog ran toward him, tongue lolling, tail wagging,
but Lane didn’t pause to pet him as he normally would, fearful that Grant would
disappear if he veered off course.

“Asking a question here!” Lane yelled, trying to get
Grant to stop. “Where’re you off to?” he repeated.

“Runnin’ into town.”

For a fraction of a second, Lane wondered if Grant
meant
literally
because of the fast pace he was maintaining. Doubtful,
but the mental image was quite amusing. And picturing Grant huffing it into
town sure beat thinking about the way Grant had answered. Grant had drawled the
response as though he didn’t have a care in the world; however, he didn’t
bother to spare Lane a glance, which was Lane’s first hint that something was
up.

Hell, for as much attention as Grant was giving him,
Lane could’ve been anyone, certainly not someone who was actually supposed to
be important to Grant.

Drop it, Miller. Not gonna get you anywhere today.
Chin up.

Doing his best to heed his own advice, Lane set off in
a half jog, half run, in order to catch Grant before he got too far away.
Budweiser, of course, thought it was a game and trotted alongside him, barking happily.

“Hey,” Lane called to Grant again, trying to get him
to slow his roll. It didn’t seem to be working, so he glanced down at the
animal scurrying along beside him. “Mornin’, Budweiser,” he muttered to the
dog, earning another enthusiastic woof from the animal.

Well, at least someone was paying attention to Lane.

“What?” Grant exclaimed a little unexpectedly, and
Lane hauled his gaze back up, where he saw that, yes, Grant had actually
stopped walking.

Finally.

When Grant spun around to face him, Lane came to a
jerky stop, surprised by the irritated expression on Grant’s too-handsome face.

“You okay?” Lane asked, concerned, standing less than
a foot away from the man who, in recent weeks, had sent Lane’s entire world on
its ear.

In a good way.

“Yeah. Fine. What do you need?”

Okay, so someone was lying, and since Lane wasn’t the
one spouting off that he was fine when he clearly wasn’t, the award went to
Grant.

“What’s your problem?” Lane mouthed off, getting a
little defensive.

It wasn’t that he was surprised that Grant was in a
foul mood; after all, this was Grant. He wasn’t
always
chipper, but that
hadn’t been the case so much lately. In fact, Grant had been the picture of
sunshine for the last few months, and Lane wanted to think that he played at
least a small part in that. Rightfully so, Lane hadn’t expected to be met with
such animosity that early in the morning.

“I’ve got things to do, Lane, what the hell do you
want?”

Lane glanced just past Grant’s head, making sure they
were alone, not wanting to risk someone stumbling upon them when he…

“Oomph.”

Lane pushed Grant’s lean body up against the inside
wall of the barn, successfully slipping into the shadows before he crushed his
mouth down on Grant’s in a kiss that threatened to spark the dry hay stored
there into an inferno. Again, Budweiser thought it was time to play, pawing at
Lane’s ass as Lane took control of the kiss, cupping Grant’s stubble-covered
jaw as he leaned into him.

Despite the attitude, Grant pretty much turned to
putty in his arms, and Lane didn’t let up, sliding his tongue into the hot
cavern of Grant’s mouth. He trailed his hands down Grant’s neck, over the hard
planes of Grant’s chest, across his rippled abs, then lower until he was
gripping Grant’s narrow hips. Lane held him in place, rocking his erection
against Grant’s through the confining denim of their jeans, trying to get as
close as physically possible because… Well, just fucking because.

Grant Kingsley was like rocket fuel, combustible and
capable of intense heat. Even now, when it was clear Grant was inspired by
something more than lust, if his sour mood was anything to go by, the man
pretty much went up in flames right there in Lane’s arms. Even with Grant’s
grumpy attitude, Lane found that he craved the man like a drug.

Grant’s fingers knotted in the front of Lane’s T-shirt
as the other man pulled him closer, sending Lane’s head whirling. Hot damn, it
had been too long since they’d done this.
This
being sharing a kiss that
made bright, colorful lights dance behind Lane’s closed eyelids.

Another few heated moments passed while Lane tried to
get his fix, plunging his tongue into Grant’s mouth, tasting the coffee his
lover must’ve had a short while ago, and desperately wishing they had just a
little more privacy than the shadowed interior of the main barn.

No such luck, which was why Lane reluctantly drew
back.

“Good mornin’,” Lane said to Grant with a grin, still
holding Grant’s hip with one hand while absently patting Budweiser’s big head
as the insistent animal pushed his snout up against Lane’s leg, begging for
attention.

Grant rolled his eyes, but Lane was pretty sure that
was a smile that curled the very corners of Grant’s delicious mouth.

“What’re you goin’ into town for?” Lane asked
curiously, forcing himself to take another step back, releasing Grant from his
clutches despite his desire to slam his mouth on Grant’s one more time for good
measure.

“My dad called,” Grant disclosed, a flicker of heat
mixed with what Lane could only assume was aggravation — based on Grant’s tone —
glimmering in his ocean-blue eyes.

“Your dad’s not
in
town, Grant,” Lane offered
helpfully, not telling Grant anything he didn’t already know.

Lane wasn’t up to speed on everything about Grant’s
parents, but he was aware that they lived nearly an hour
outside
of
town, which meant that Grant’s “in town” reference was supposed to deter Lane.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Grant bit back.

“So what does he want?” Lane asked, pretending not to
be bothered by Grant’s snippy fucking attitude.

As with Grant’s parents’ whereabouts, Lane didn’t know
much about Grant’s rapport with his folks, either, but from what Lane had
gathered over the years, their relationship was strained at best.

“I need to stop by and talk to him.”

Now Lane’s Spidey senses were beginning to go off, and
Grant wasn’t helping with his elusive retort. “Need” was a pretty strong word,
especially when Grant used it.

Grant wasn’t much for running off to deal with
personal business, nor was he usually quick to share the details of his life,
but Lane figured it was safe to assume they had crossed a particular line in
recent months. The one they no longer saw in their peripheral vision because
they’d taken a few steps forward and zero steps back. And Lane wanted to
believe that once they passed that line and it disappeared from view, it was
only fair that they were expected to open up a little more than normal.

Someone probably needed to remind Grant of that
because apparently he was regressing.

“What’s up, man? Talk to me.”

Grant met his gaze, and this time Lane saw defiance
there.

Fucking hell.

Scratch that. Grant wasn’t
regressing
; he was
running backward at lightning speed.

“Don’t make me kiss it outta you,” Lane threatened,
doing his best to keep the happy-go-lucky tone he was known for.

“As much as I’d like that,” Grant said hesitantly, his
eyes darting across their immediate surroundings, passing over Budweiser, who
was still watching them intently, before meeting Lane’s once more, “I really do
need to go.”

“Fine.” It was clear that Grant wasn’t going to delve
into the specifics about what was bothering him. At least not out there in the
dusty barn.

Bearing in mind how much physical distance they had
inserted between the three of them — him, Grant,
and
Gracie — in recent
weeks, due to circumstances out of their control, Lane knew not to push his
luck.

No, he would corner Grant later and kiss it out of him
— just as he’d threatened — if he had to.

But for now, he opted to change the subject. “How
’bout dinner?”

Grant’s eyes softened somewhat, but that was as far as
Lane was going to let him go because he knew what was coming. Regressing had
quickly turned to retreating, and now Grant was backsliding at a rapid pace.
Lane had feared it was coming for the last couple of weeks.

Clamping his hand over Grant’s mouth before the man
could give him some sorry excuse, Lane said, “Don’t do this. Don’t come up with
some bullshit reason to push me away. You hear me? We’ve come too damn far for
this.” Lane stared back at Grant for a long moment. “I’m going to work, and
you’re gonna be on your way. Whatever you think you want right now, you’d
better give it some more thought. I’m not gonna drop this, so don’t even ask me
to.”

Grant’s eyes were wide by the time Lane released his
mouth. And just like he said he would, Lane turned on his heel and walked away.

Right after he pressed his lips to Grant’s for a
quick, potent kiss.

■□■□■□■□

Grace Lambert was coming out of the
six-thousand-square-foot main house, where pretty much all business-related
activities associated with Dead Heat Ranch occurred, including the Monday
morning meetings she had with her father and sisters, at about the same time
Lane was going in. Where her head was at, she had no idea, but before she knew
it, she was on a collision course with the delectable cowboy. The same cowboy
who made her heart burst into a full gallop every time she saw him. The same
one who, just a few months ago, she had tried to steer clear of.

Yeah, that ship had obviously sailed.

“Well, hello, gorgeous,” Lane said huskily when she
found herself flush against him, one hand clutching his huge bicep, the other
crushed between them — the only thing saving her iPhone from a header on the wooden
deck that wrapped around the house.

Their close proximity would likely appear an accidental
collision to an onlooker, but based on the way Lane slid his hands along her
hips, his chest pressed firmly against her breasts, what had started out
innocent took a quick and abrupt turn to the lascivious.

Mmm… Lascivious. Some seriously delicious moments that
they had shared over the last few months came to mind.

Grace didn’t mind the close contact, although she
prayed no one was paying any attention. Because if they were…

Stumbling back a step or two just in case someone did
have them in their cross hairs, Grace shifted her attention from the phone in
her hand to the devastatingly handsome cowboy in front of her. “Sorry,” she
muttered shyly, her face warming several degrees.

“Babe, feel free to knock me off my feet anytime you
want. This certainly isn’t the first time.”

Unable to help herself, she smiled up at him. Way up.

Grace knew she wasn’t even average when it came to her
height of five feet four inches, although she was taller than her four sisters,
but compared to Lane’s six-foot-three-inch frame, she felt impossibly small.

“Someone’s in a good mood this mornin,'” she offered.
“Wish I could say the same.”

“What’s with you people today? You’d think it was
Monday or somethin’.”

“It
is
Monday, Lane,” Grace informed Lane with
a full-fledged smile.

“Oh. Well, hell. That explains it then. Where’d the
weekend go?”

“No idea. I think I worked through it.”

“Yep, I know the feelin’.”

It had been an incredibly busy few weeks for all of
them. With the official end of summer nearing as August came to a close, things
seemed to be moving at warp speed. The days were tirelessly long and seemingly
endless, with all of the guests who were cramming in a last-minute summer
vacation before school was back in session.

Thanks to the steady influx of tourists visiting,
they’d spent the last two months performing some much-needed updates on the
ranch. They had worked continuously to get everything done in a short amount of
time, including getting two of the extra cabins in tip-top shape so they could
be occupied, providing the on-site store with a much-needed facelift,
installing some new commercial appliances in the kitchen, and replacing a
handful of the wobbly old tables scattered throughout the dining area. Not to
mention all of the new things going on with the actual animals that were
supposed to be the primary focus of their day-to-day chores.