Just Once (11 page)

“Hey.”

I jump in my seat and twist my neck so hard to look at the open passenger window that my shoulder seizes and excruciating pain shoots everywhere. I cry out and bite my lip to stifle the sound.

I hear footsteps on the uneven ground and know he’s coming over to my side. I try to roll up the window, but my still-shaking hands can’t seem to manage the motion. I succeed in unbuckling my seatbelt, but that accomplishes pretty much nothing.

“What’s wrong?” Shane asks, now at my window. He’s so close I feel his breath on my cheek when he speaks. He smells faintly of beer.

“Have you been drinking?” I ask, staring straight ahead.

“Only one. Don’t tell.”

I know he’s smiling, but can’t return it. I’m still too upset.

“What’s going on? Your shoulder? I told you, I’ll help. Get out.”

“It’s not my shoulder.”

“Then why’d you scream?”

“I didn’t scream, I—” I take a breath. “Okay, that was my shoulder, but that’s not why I’m upset.”

“Get out of the van.”

“What? Why?”

“Come out and tell me. My trailer’s on the other side of the barn. Sit out with me and have a beer.”

My mouth opens and closes soundlessly. Truth be told, I don’t really know why I’m still in the van except that nowhere else seemed better. Until now.

I get out and follow him around the barn, which, true to his word, has a large silver Airstream trailer parked on the far side. A small porch has been added to the front, and two Adirondack chairs sit to one side, overlooking the paddock.

“How have I never seen this before?” I ask as I follow Shane onto the porch and take a seat. He opens a cooler and pulls out a beer. He twists off the cap and hands it over, our fingers touching a second longer than necessary.

He shrugs and retrieves his beer from the railing, taking a long swallow. “So what happened?” he asks.

I close my eyes and drink. How do I recount the events without sounding like a teenage girl myself? I decide to skip the Cassidy Reyes stuff and just tell him about Janie. I start at the beginning, with her attitude around the ranch, and finish with the missed slap.

“She tried to hit you?” he echoes in disbelief.

“I’ve never been in this position before,” I moan. “I just…I don’t know.”

“It might explain why you’re so tight,” he says.

“I’m not uptight! For Christ’s sakes, why do people here keep saying that?” My whole life I’ve been chastised for not being prim and proper enough, and now I can’t seem to escape the charge.

“I said
tight
,” Shane repeats, “not uptight.” The look on his face suggests he might be reconsidering.

I take another swallow of beer. “Sorry.”

“Come inside.”

I choke. “I beg your pardon?”

“Let me work on your shoulder.”

The porch is lit with a tiny string of chili pepper lights glowing red and orange along the perimeter, but it’s not enough to show me the intention in Shane’s dark eyes. I can guess at his plans, however, and I’m pretty sure going into that trailer will only lead to one thing.

“I can’t go in there,” I say.

“Why not?”

“You know why. My…reputation.”

He laughs. “Your reputation? What is it you want to be known as? The uptight manager or the woman with a loose shoulder?”

I can’t help but smile. I don’t think it’s my shoulder people will be calling loose. But still—each time I lift the bottle to my lips I feel a painful twinge in my back.

“Nothing can happen,” I say.

He shrugs. “Nothing will happen. I’ll fix your shoulder and send you on your way.”

I finish the beer and set down the bottle.

“Promise? I’ve had a bad night. I don’t want to fight with you too.”

He extends a pinkie finger, mocking me. “I promise, Kate. No matter how much you beg me, I’m not going to fuck you.”

I freeze, pinkie finger halfway extended. “Jesus, Shane.”

He wraps his finger around mine. “Pinkie swear,” he whispers, and it sounds like a threat.

Chapter Seven

I F
OLLOW
S
HANE
I
NTO
T
HE
T
RAILER
. He flips on a light, and I blink to let my eyes adjust as the door closes behind me. It’s surprisingly spacious and fastidiously neat—there’s not an item out of place. Even the coffee table is bare. Off to the left is a tiny kitchen, next to which is a door that presumably leads to a bathroom. We’re in the living room, and to the right is a sliding door, presently open, that leads to a bedroom with a neatly made queen-size bed.

“Come on,” Shane says over his shoulder. He sits on the edge of the bed and unlaces his boots. “Get in here.”

I take a few steps forward. What am I doing? I know that some part of me desperately wants him to fix more than just my shoulder, but tonight feels wrong. I’m on edge, this is not a smart idea, and I have promised myself that I would be smarter. I know bad things happen to stupid girls. As ridiculous as it sounds, I believe Shane’s pinkie promise. It’s myself I don’t trust. Older, wiser Kate is on shaky ground at the moment.

“This isn’t a good idea,” I repeat.

“I’m just going to help your shoulder, Kate.”

I swallow. “I know.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“You know,” I mutter.

“Listen…” Shane sighs. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not my type.”

I stifle a laugh. “You’re not mine either.”

“So what’s the problem? Still worried about your
reputation?”
He’s teasing me again.

“No.”

“Then take off your shirt and lie down on your stomach.”

My heart leaps into my throat, but when I look at Shane he’s staring back at me steadily, nothing insinuating in his gaze. He means what he says, and he expects his instructions to be followed. As the foreman, he’s used to being obeyed. And everything in me wants to listen.

“Now, Kate.”

I unbutton my top before I can overthink it. Just my shoulder. He promised. I’m not his type. He’s not mine. Just my shoulder. I push the shirt down my arms so I’m standing in a white tank top and jeans.

“Keep going,” he says, standing. When he rises, the room seems to shrink by half. He just takes up so much space. Makes every inch of my skin aware that he’s near.

“W-What?” I stammer.

He reaches past me and grabs a small tube of lotion from the top of the dresser. “Take this off,” he says softly, fingering my tank top. “It’ll make things easier.”

His shoulder brushes mine as he straightens, and I avoid his gaze. I’m wearing a bra that covers more than he saw the other night at the pool.
And
, I remind myself,
he promised
. Just my shoulder.

I look straight ahead at the curtains covering the window and pull the tank top over my head. I may be imagining things, but I swear I hear Shane inhale sharply. I hang the tank top on the back of a chair next to my first shirt and stand there in my bra.

“Boots too,” he says, close to my ear.

I have to hold his arm as I squeeze the boots off my feet, and it’s a sign that something is seriously wrong when the feel of his massive bicep—previously not a turn-on—is the most wonderful and reassuring thing I’ve felt in months. When the boots are off, he slides his warm, rough palm over my back, fingers squeezing the base of my neck before trailing down my spine and stopping only when they reach the top of my low-rise jeans.

“Now get on the bed.”

I move before I can talk myself out of it. The blanket is soft, worn cotton, and it feels wonderful on my heated skin as I stretch out on my stomach and rest my head on my folded arms. Quiet night sounds drift in from outside as my eyes sink shut. I’m vaguely aware of Shane taking my right arm and extending it up and out to the side, elbow bent, lifting my shoulder blade.

The mattress dips as he sits down next to me, the soft fabric of his cargo pants brushing my hip as his knee presses lightly into my side. I hear him squeeze lotion into his palm, then rub his hands together. “Ready?” he asks.

I murmur my assent, somehow nearly comatose already. Maybe it’s the potent combination of exhaustion and Shane’s no-nonsense demeanor, but all my concerns about this encounter have gone out the window. I’ll let Shane do whatever he wants. If I weren’t so worn out by the day, I’d be alarmed at this level of trust. I don’t even know his last name.

“What’s your last name?” I mumble.

His hands, which have been smoothing over my back and shoulders, pause for a moment. “Maddox,” he answers.

“Maddox,” I repeat. “Got it.”

His hands resume their hypnotic circling, and soon his thumbs are pressing into my shoulder blade, under my shoulder blade, finding that knot and working around it. It hurts, no question, but not as much as earlier. He’s working slowly, methodically, getting deeper and deeper into the tight muscles until—

“
Jesus Christ!”
I shriek, bolting upright so fast he falls off the bed.

“What the hell, Kate?” He shoots to his feet.

His face looks angry in his surprise, but I’m still gasping. I don’t know what he touched, but I have never known pain like that before. It felt like a live wire searing something deep inside.

“What are you doing?” I demand, lower lip trembling. “That hurt. Too much,” I add, when he opens his mouth to argue. “Do you really know what you’re doing? Is this some…ploy you use to get girls in here?”

His mouth twitches. “Ploy?” he echoes. “Really?”

He sits back down on the bed and puts a hand on my shoulder, trying to push my resisting body back to the mattress. He sighs when I remain stiff and unyielding, glaring at him suspiciously. I’m suddenly aware that I’m wearing only a demi-cup bra, my chest heaving indignantly. He seems aware of it too, and I watch his gaze drop. It’s tempting to let this rage turn into something else, but smarter, wiser Kate knows that that’s a terrible idea. I snatch up the pillow and clutch it to my chest.

Shane sighs.

“Lie down, Kate. No one’s going to hurt you.”

“You just did.”

He presses more insistently, and eventually I give in and lie prone on my stomach once more. “That’s because we’re getting to the root of the problem,” he says patiently. “Your muscle is clenched so tightly that pressing on it forces those fibers to start releasing, but in order to do so they clench even tighter first. We have to force it to spasm until it wears itself out.”

“You’re kidding, right? I’m supposed to lie here while you make
that
happen? We’re hoping my shoulder just spasms to death and gives up?”

“Not hoping,” Shane corrects. “It will.”

“You’re used to getting what you want.”

“Only because I’m always right.”

I roll my eyes as best I can from my position. He’s smiling slightly.

“Here,” he says, one hand massaging my back, the other going to his belt and quickly unbuckling it. He pulls it free of the loops, and I try to sit up again. This time he holds me down.

“What the fuck, Shane?” I squeal, face pressed into the mattress.

“I’m not going to hit you with it,” he says, amused. I don’t need to see that eyebrow to know it’s arched.

“That’s not what I’m worried about!”

“What did you thi—Oh,” he breathes, voice low. “I’m not going to tie you up, either, Kate. But nice to know.”

I scowl, cheeks burning. “Then what’s it for?”

He holds the end to my lips. “Bite down.”

“Bite down?” I snap. “I’m not a cowboy! We’re not removing a bullet.”

He laughs. “Suit yourself. But don’t move or I will tie you up.”

“I’d kill you.”

He laughs again. I’m glad one of us finds this hilarious.

“Stay put.”

He shifts on the mattress so one knee is on the bed beside me and the other leg reaches the floor. He uses his considerable weight to apply just the right amount of pressure, starting with wider circles before zeroing his way back to the muscle in question. There’s no doubt this hurts, and when he gets closer and closer the pain increases, and I can’t help but whimper.

“You’re doing great,” he whispers.

“Shut up.”

He keeps going. I try to distract myself from what his thumbs are doing, but I can’t. He’s digging into something that feels like it’s on fire, and every thrust of his thumbs may as well be him stabbing me with a dagger.

“I can’t,” I mumble, writhing. “I can’t.”

“The more it hurts the closer it is to being over,” he promises.

“Bullshit.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Kate.”