Cowboy Justice (17 page)

The grounds were quiet, save for two of Rachel’s farmhands who were tinkering under the hood of a tractor. They didn’t notice him, so he kept moving.

Back in the stable, he and Rachel exchanged cautious smiles. She watched from a stool as he took off his tie and utility belt, leaving them in a pile on a workbench. He hesitated with his fingers at the button of his uniform shirt’s collar. It wouldn’t be professional to get it smudged while shoeing, but stripping to his undershirt in front of Rachel was the start of a story that invariably ended with them both naked and breathing hard.

He solved the issue by turning away from her until he’d taken off his shirt and replaced it with his leather farrier apron. Still, he felt her dark eyes studying his every move. When he snapped and glanced her way, it was to see her raking her eyes up and down his body, her lower lip snared in her teeth and her eyes dark as midnight, as if the sight of him in a white T-shirt and apron was the sexiest sight she’d ever witnessed.

In college, when he worked for his parents farriering, he’d definitely managed some dates with various ranchers’ daughters using this look, but that was a solid fifteen years ago, when he was a whole lot younger and fresher faced.

He moved a stool near Growly’s tail and laid his tools out. Then he smoothed his hand over Growly’s back, then his hindquarters, until he was certain the animal was comfortable with him. Maintaining contact with his shoulder against the hindquarters, he slid his hand down Growly’s leg. In a quiet voice, he asked Growly to lift his leg as he patted his leg above the hoof. Growly complied and Vaughn pulled it onto his apron, to rest on the ledge made by his bent knees.

From the corner, Rachel let out a ragged breath that left the air in the room crackling with tension so brittle he could’ve snapped it like a stick of toffee.

Don’t look at her. Do the task at hand and keep your mind out of the gutter.

He picked up his hoof knife and took to cleaning the hoof, prepping it for the shoe. Ignoring Rachel.

He was doing fine with that until he asked her to bring him the shoe. Because then she came too close and said in a husky voice, “You might not be a rancher by profession, but your heart is pure cowboy.”

Don’t look at her.
“Cowboy lawman, according to your sister.”

She let out a throaty laugh and strolled toward her perch in the corner. And then, as if he weren’t having enough trouble keeping his thoughts virtuous, he watched the sway of her ass until she resumed her seat. Their eyes met, and the look she gave him singed him where he stood.

Forcing his focus to shoeing, he tested the smoothness of Growly’s hoof with the pad of his thumb, filed down a couple rough spots, then fitted the shoe on. Before he had enough sense to restrain himself, he blurted, “Unlike Jenna, you dig my cowboy lawman vibe, don’t you?”

“What do you think?”

Actually, he wasn’t sure what the hell he’d been thinking, asking her that. He selected a No. 5 nail and a hammer, then tapped the first nail in place. Hoping to defuse the tension with humor, he painted on his best self-deprecating smile and said in an exaggerated Texas drawl, “Darlin’, how about I show you my six-shooter?”

Rachel snickered. “I bet that’s the line you use on all the ladies.”

“Hey, a guy’s got to work hard to earn the title Most Eligible Bachelor. My pretty face alone don’t cut it.” He tapped the next nail in place.

“I hate to break it to you, but I get the impression that the only requirements for Eligible Bachelor status in Quay County are: one, that a man’s single; two, that he has a steady job; and three—this one’s optional—he owns a house.”

He raised a brow and glanced her way. “That’s all women want these days? Seems simple enough.”

“You’d be surprised how hard it is for a woman to find that winning trifecta in a man.”

Oh, hell, no. She better not be saying what he thought she was. Try as he might to keep it in place, the smile wiped from his features. When he spoke, the timbre of his voice had a sharp edge of irritation. “You been looking?”

She was silent for a beat, but he refused to look up from his work, afraid of what she’d see in his expression.

“No, I’m not out looking. Just been listening to my sisters bitch about it for years.”

He hammered another nail in place, annoyed that her answer hadn’t done much to quell his jealousy. It was hypocritical of him to be bothered in the first place, since the two of them had already broached the subject of Kate Parrish. But the thought of her with another man made him want to kick his boot through the stable wall. Real mature, Vaughn. He selected another nail and concentrated on not taking out his anger on the horse.

They lapsed into a tense silence while he nailed the shoe in place. Growly had the calm disposition of a well—cared-for horse that was used to being shoed. He affectionately nibbled the back of Vaughn’s neck every so often, but otherwise stayed still. When he finished, Vaughn lowered Growly’s leg and rubbed his hindquarters, satisfied by how straightforward the shoeing had been. “Done. I’ll repack my kit and we can get moving.”

He watched Rachel’s approach out of the corner of his eye and braced himself to resist her.

“Thank you for doing that,” she said.

Still avoiding her eyes, he shrugged. “Why don’t you prep the horses to ride while I get myself put back together?”

“Sure.”

She moved away from him, toward the tack box on the far side of the stable. He released the breath he’d been holding, then walked to the washbasin and scrubbed his hands. He removed the apron and folded it. His undershirt was dotted with circles of perspiration. The damp cotton clung to his chest and rendered his dusting of black chest hairs visible. Embarrassing.

With a grimace, he ran a hand over his stomach and reached for his dress shirt. Once his shirt was on, he fixed his belt in place, then reached for his tie. As soon as he took it in hand, a flood of memories washed through him—of the times he’d blindfolded her with it, or bound her wrists. Once, he’d used it as a gag. She’d come so hard that day, he’d gone out and bought a proper one, not that he’d ever had the chance to use it on her. She’d broken their affair off the next day.

A
clunk
caught his attention. A pile of tack sat on the ground next to where Rachel bent over the box. He followed her worn brown work boots up her legs to the supple curve of her backside, then higher, to the sliver of black panties showing above her jeans.

Before he even realized he was moving, he was behind her, his hand on her hip, testing the curve of her body beneath the denim. Rather than flinch away, she pressed that curve more firmly into his palm as she stood. He lifted her hat off and hung it on a nail within reach. She let him do it, so he took a chance and ran the tip of his tongue over her earlobe, then bit into the curl of flesh at the top until her body shuddered.

Her upper teeth pressed onto her plump, rosy lower lip, a move that blinded him to all the reasons kissing her was wrong. He angled in, desperate for a taste of her.

With a breathy gasp, she jerked her face away and folded forward to rummage in the box, a move that presented her backside to him again. She was too smart to not be aware of what she was doing. The erection pressed against her thigh should’ve been enough to tell her his control was fraying. He cupped his hand over the firm flesh. Was she testing him? Making him prove his resolve to resist her? This was one test he’d have no qualms about failing at the moment.

She twisted up and looked over her shoulder at him, carnal awareness battling with self-control in her eyes as surely as it was battling in his mind. Then she handed him a halter combo and a leather rein.

Damn, the leather gave him impure thoughts. He tucked the halter under his arm and stretched the rein between his hands.

Two seconds. That’s all it would take for him to bind her wrists to the handle on the side of the box and stretch her across the top as tightly as strings on a guitar. Wouldn’t be the first time he took a leather strap to her body. His blood throbbed beneath his skin, imagining all the ways he could bring her pleasure in that position.

He closed his eyes, his breath coming in starts and fits, gripping the rein hard enough that it cut into the fleshy part of his palms. “Tell me to get away from you. Tell me to leave you alone.”

As he stood frozen, torn between ravenous need and his integrity, Rachel stood. Her hips shifted to stroke him in the cleft of her buttock. Her fingers found his jaw, and she scraped her nails over the stubble of his neck and chin. “And if I don’t?”

He stroked the back of her arm with the rein. “If you don’t do what I tell you, then you’re going to pay the price.”

Rachel molded her body into his. She tipped her head back to rest on his collarbone, her breathing ragged. “We should not be here like this.”

True enough, but he was too far gone to care. “Close the lid, and don’t say another word.” He hadn’t used that voice in a while. The low, fierce command. Threatening to anyone’s ears but Rachel’s, who knew from experience that there’d be no repercussions if she didn’t follow his command, that despite the force behind his words he’d never get dangerous with her. She obeyed him because she wanted to, and he never forgot that. Even when he was so aroused that he couldn’t remember his own name. The power was Rachel’s to give or take back as she pleased.

He waited for her to make the choice, his hands clutching the rein, listening to the rustling sound of the horses and the surge of blood in his ears.

She bent forward and closed the lid.

He gritted his teeth as a wave of arousal crashed through him.
Game on, baby.

Dropping his arm to his side, the leather strap unfurled from his hand. He shook it out and gave Rachel time to change her mind.

She remained tipped forward over the box, her hands braced against the closed lid, her legs apart. She glanced sideways at the rein, breathing in even, shallow breaths through parted lips. She knew what was coming, and it turned her on as much as it did him. He leaned in and brushed his lips across her cheek before taking her mouth in a hard, ravishing kiss.

He broke away, gasping for air. They didn’t have time for this. People were waiting. It was nearly noon and the stable sat in the center of Rachel’s bustling family enterprise. Not too far away from the stable, he heard the sounds of the guest families. Chatting, their children laughing and playing. Somewhere nearby, an engine revved. That would be Rachel’s farmhands working on the tractor.

Screw it all. He needed this. Rachel needed this. Besides, no one would know. And that made what they were doing even more intoxicatingly wicked.

A bowline knot came fast for his practiced fingers. Sliding his hand down her arm, he waited for the resulting shiver to leave her body before taking her wrist in hand.

“Other wrist too,” he commanded.

She brought it to meet her right wrist and held still, allowing him to slip the loop over both. He jerked the end of the rein, removing the slack, binding her arms together. She whimpered, the little mewling sound she almost always made when she was close to orgasm.

His brain and his cock screamed,
AGAIN
.

That morning, he’d jerked off in the shower to the memory of her making that sound. And here he was, a few hours later, hearing it fall from her lips. He hadn’t even touched her but a little, and nowhere near her erogenous zones. If she were that close to coming already, then maybe she needed this even worse than he’d suspected.

“Turn around and face me.”

His cock pulsed as she obeyed. There was no more battle in her eyes as she looked at him. Arousal had won the day.

“Lie back.”

She hitched her ass on the edge of the lid and reclined. He grabbed hold of the knot binding her wrists to support her weight as she lowered. When she’d settled, he kicked her boots as far apart as her legs would go. The end of the rein in hand, he walked to the far side of the box and threaded the leather through the handle, pulling it tight, stringing her torso across the box. The act brought out a moan from her, but it wasn’t the sound he needed to hear again.

She watched his face as he secured the rein to the handle with a second bowline knot. He brushed hair away from her eyes, then traced over the cinnamon freckles of her cheeks. She was so damn pretty, and the fire of life and intelligence in her eyes glowed so damn bright. His flame. His beautiful, complicated flame.

She drew his finger into her mouth and held it in place with her teeth as she suckled it, flicking the end with her tongue.

Given the position and angle she lay at, he could brace his knees on the box and feed her his cock. He knew she’d take it greedily. She’d do whatever he asked of her—suck him off, swallow. Whatever he wanted. The knowledge of his power nearly had him unzipping his pants. But then, if he did that, she wouldn’t make the sounds he craved, nor experience the sharp, sweeping pleasure he wanted so fervently to bring her before they got to anything else.

“Stay,” he growled.

His senses dazed, he stumbled away from her and snagged a rope hanging from a nail in the wall. His vision tunneled on the sliding stable doors.

At the door, he glanced sideways at her. She lay where he’d left her, her legs apart. Beautiful, strong, gifting him with the power to command her pleasure.

He threaded the rope through the door handles and knotted it. No one would get through the door now. Unless lightning struck, or the world collapsed beneath them, nothing was going to interrupt what he was about to do to Rachel.

He stopped by the washbasin to scrub his hands again, deliberately slow, letting her lie there, letting the tension build between them until he couldn’t stand it anymore. Then he advanced on her, adjusting his rock-hard erection to run diagonally along his hip within his briefs. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Disco stroll lazily into his stall. None of the animals seemed to be paying them any mind. Good. He didn’t have the patience to deal with them now.

He stopped near her head and lowered his lips onto hers, kissing her deeply. Beneath her T-shirt, her small, gorgeous breasts thrust toward the ceiling, beckoning to be touched. He cupped one, loving the way it felt in his hand. Breaking the kiss, he moved his mouth to her chest, pulling the shirt up and the bra down to gain access. Her freed breast jiggled beneath a nipple drawn up so tight, hardly any areola remained around it. He set his mouth over her, curling his tongue around her taut flesh. He flicked it with the slightest touch, knowing she preferred it harder.