Stud for Hire (7 page)

Hanna stared at him with wide, wounded eyes. Her lips trembled. Tears puddled on her lashes. “I have to.”

“What do you mean, you have to?” His jaw clenched. “Are you . . . are you pregnant?”

She snorted and he unclenched. “No. Nothing like that. It's just . . . my father owes Zack a great deal of money.”

His heart seized. “Zack?” A croak. He didn't want to hear it. Couldn't bear to hear it—

“Zack Pucey.”

Fuck.

The guy she was engaged to marry was Zack Pucey. He should have known.

The fact that she didn't love him, didn't really want to marry him, thrilled Logan to no end. But fury rocked him at the thought of her bound to that bastard.

“Your father owes him money?”

“A lot.”

“So he's
selling
you?”

She bristled. “I'm not a whore.” She winced and sent him an apologetic look at this insult to what she
thought
was his profession. He was torn between the desire to laugh out loud or snarl in frustration. He did neither.

“What is it then? You are marrying the biggest asshole in town in exchange for a cash infusion?”

She blinked. “Do you know Zack?”

Logan frowned. He could hardly tell her the truth. That Zack had been the bane of his existence in high school. Zack had been the guy to shove him in a locker and give him wedgies and mock him for being poor. For being skinny. For being
nice
.

Zack had been the guy to beat the shit out of him for getting between him and something he wanted. He'd really wanted Hanna. Too much to ask for her consent.

That she was actually planning to marry the guy who had cornered her beneath the stadium bleachers of Zane Pucey High and tried to take her by force made his brain hurt.

“Everyone knows Zack Pucey,” he muttered. Also, everyone hated Zack Pucey. He was a dirty dealer. Even if Logan hadn't known the truth about what kind of man Zack was, if he hadn't seen it for himself, he would certainly have heard of his reputation—as far away as Dallas. “Is he blackmailing you into marriage?”

“It's not like that.” But her lashes flickered and he knew. He could tell. It was exactly like that.

“This isn't the Wild West, Hanna,” he muttered. Ranchers didn't sell their daughters into unholy unions with land barons. “You could just say no.”

She wriggled off his lap. He disliked the coolness in her absence. “You don't know anything about it.”

“So tell me.”

She paused and curled her hair behind her ear. “My father is broke.”

“I thought your father was rich.” He winced. He shouldn't have said that. He wasn't supposed to know her. He wasn't supposed to know anything about her. “I mean, that's what Cody told me.”

She snorted. “Cody should know better. My father borrowed money from him as well. Anyway, we didn't know it, but he'd made some . . . bad investments. Had to mortgage the ranch. We were teetering on the brink of bankruptcy when . . .”

He didn't like the way she trailed off. “When?”

“When my mother got sick.” She sighed. “Her care is . . . costly. There wasn't enough money to pay those bills and the mortgage.”

“So you agreed to marry Pucey if he'd cover the mortgage?”

“Mmm hmm.” She plopped down next to him and rested her elbows on her knees and her chin in her palms. “He's been interested in me since high school—”

She trailed off and Logan knew by the look in her eye, just knew, the night she was thinking of. Hell, he'd been there. He'd been there. Saved her.

And still, she didn't remember him.

“Anyway. It is what it is. I was hoping my art would take off. Maybe I could make some money and figure out a way out of this, but only one of the gallery owners I sent samples to agreed to show my work.” She sniffed. “And she's a friend.”

He dropped an arm around her shoulder. She fell against him. A hot tear dropped onto his hand. “You're an artist?” He hadn't known that.

“A painter.” She blew out a snort. “Well, I paint. Apparently I'm not any good.”

“What do you paint?”

“Landscapes. Desert landscapes.” She peeped up at him. “Do you want to see?”

“Yes.”

She found her jeans and pulled out her cell phone, scrolling through until she found one of her paintings, then handed him the device. “Here's one Amy is showing next weekend. It's just a small gallery in Fort Worth, but I'm hopeful it will sell.”

His breath caught in his throat as he stared at the image. It was gorgeous. Wild. Untamed. Like her. “That is amazing.”

“Do you really like it?”

He nodded. “I do.”

She took the phone from him. Drew her finger over the image. “Really? You're not just saying that because I'm paying you?”

“Are you paying me?”

She blinked. “Well, yes. I mean, we've never talked about your price, but yes.”

“I'm not taking your money, Hanna.”

“What? Of course you are. Services rendered . . .”

“No services have been rendered yet.”

She smacked him gently on the shoulder. “You know what I mean.”

“If money is the root of your problem, why did you decide to hire a pricey gigolo?”

“Are you pricey?” He liked the teasing light in her eye, but saw it for what it was. Deflection.

“Extremely.” He waited for her to answer his question, though he knew she would not. So he prompted her again. “Why? Why have a fling at your bachelorette party?”

He disliked the flutter of her lashes, the hint of a shadow in her smile. “I . . . I needed to know.”

“Know what?”

Her tormented expression was like a punch to the gut. “I needed to know I wasn't cold. That I could . . .” She waved at the cot behind them.

Logan froze as her meaning descended on his brain. His heart thudded in his throat. He swallowed to clear the sensation. “I . . . ah . . . You've never had an orgasm?”

Her grin was minxish. “I have now.” She flushed. “Oh, don't get me wrong. I've had them. Of course I've had them. Just not . . .”

“Not . . .”

“With a man.” This, she whispered, but he heard, and an unholy thrill snaked through him. He'd given her something no other man ever had.

Also, Zack Pucey was an idiot.

“Not that there have been a lot of men in my life,” she continued. “I mean . . . Snake Gully is a pretty small town.”

Yeah. And no doubt Zack let it be known that she was his property. No doubt he beat the shit out of any guy who so much as glanced at her. “So Zack's the only guy you've ever . . . dated?”

“Oh no.”

Something acidic cut through him at her adamant denial.

“I had a couple boyfriends in Paris.”

“Paris?”

A nod. “I studied at the Sorbonne for two years.” The smile that flitted across her face was soft and reminiscent, and it warmed his heart. A remnant of the girl he remembered.

“Did you like it there?”

The tiny smile blossomed and her eyes shone. “Oh yes. Yes, I did. I never felt more . . .”

“More what?”

Her cheeks pinkened. “It's silly.”

“Tell me.”

“I never felt more like my true self than I did there.” Though the thought seemed to make her happy, it made him sad. It made him want to make her feel like her true self with him. Always.

“Why did you come home?”

Her smile fled. “Mom got sick. Dad needed me. I had to come home.”

“And when you came home, Zack proposed?”

“Not right away.” She stared at her fingers. “We dated for a while before he proposed the first time.”

“The first time?”

“I turned him down several times. But then, when I found out we were losing the ranch, and Zack had offered to help out if I agreed to marry him . . .” She shrugged. “Mom loves that ranch. It's . . . her home.”

Of course. He knew it had to be something like that. She was willing to sacrifice her own happiness to rescue her parents. Exhilaration, vindication—that he hadn't been wrong about her—whipped through him.

And lust. There was lust mixed up in the whirlwind too.

“And then you hired me. And here we are.”

With his words, the mood in the little room shifted, the temperature with it.

She glanced up at him, her eyes wide and hopeful. Her lips parted and sheened. Her features hungry.

He pulled her close, kissed her. Gently, this time, and laid her down on the bed.

He worked off his shirt and his jeans as he kissed her, fumbling in the pocket for that foil packet he'd remembered.

It didn't take long to bring her passion back up to fever pitch—not now that he knew her. Now that he could find and stoke her fire. And though she had wanted to experience a dominant loving, he had no desire to play that game now.

He wanted to take her gently, to take her slowly. To savor each moment and show her with his body that which he couldn't put into words.

She was an angel in his arms, responsive and sweet, cooing and moaning as he teased her nipples, caressed her thigh. She hissed in a breath as he skated over her mound, then wriggled beneath him.

His heart hitched at the slick welcome he found there.

He had wanted her for so long. Dreamed of this moment for years. He wanted it to last forever.

Lifting his hips, he positioned his cock and eased inside, hissing out a breath at the pleasure of finally, finally, sinking into her.

She was glorious. Divine. His.

Well, technically, not his. Not yet. But she would be.

She was getting married. To Zack Pucey, of all people. And this weekend was her last gasp of freedom.

He should be thrilled beyond words that he had, at least once, tasted her. But he wasn't. He was angry at her plight and, truth be told, a little desperate.

He only had a weekend, but he intended to use every moment to the fullest.

By God, he would show Hanna Stevens what she'd be missing.

***

Hanna winced as Logan pressed in. He moved slowly, sliding in, in a leisurely fashion, giving her body time to accept him. He was large and filled her beautifully, despite her natural resistance. He'd taken the time to warm her again, stroking and teasing and tantalizing her beyond sanity. And now, braced over her, staring down into her eyes, he took her.

It was everything she'd imagined it could be.

The pressure of his shaft, sliding against her weeping folds, the snarling sensation scraping quivering nerves, the fullness, stole her breath.

Deep within, a cauldron bubbled, spat. An impatient fury for something more.

He pulled out, again with excruciating slowness, and then eased back in, this time deeper.

She shuddered as he hit a particular spot, one that made her tremble. She lifted her knees to cradle his hips, to encourage him, perhaps.

He hissed and stilled, and then withdrew again. His features were frozen in a mask of pain, of patience. Restraint.

She hated restraint.

“Please,” she murmured, wiggling her hips.

“Ah. What do you want, Hanna?”

“Harder. Please.”

A shadow crossed his face. His cheek bunched. “I'm trying to be gentle.”

She cupped his cheek. Kissed him softly on the lips. “Don't.”

The last thing she wanted right now was gentle. She wanted wild and crazed. She wanted a storm of passion.

“Don't?”

“Fuck me, Logan.” A whisper. “Fuck me hard.”

As though her desperate plea had unlocked the iron will caging him, he pulled out and lunged. Hard.

Her body seized as rivulets of exquisite pleasure snarled through her. It was not a tame sensation. It was wild. Feral. “Yes.”

“You want it like this?” he grunted.

“Yes.” And, when he plunged again, harder, deeper, “Yes, yes!”

This launched him into a manic frenzy, whipping in and out of her with a zeal she could only describe as gentle fury. He took hold of her thighs and lifted her, shifting his position so he could come at her from this direction and that, each foray more thrilling than the last.

Something inside her knotted, constricting with each thrust.

His pace increased. Beads of sweat formed on his brow. His features tautened. “Hanna,” he gasped.

She lifted her hips higher, thrusting up into him like a wild creature, urging him on, meeting him and matching him with each and every plunge.

The tightness became a flutter, the flutter a ripple. The ripple a wave.

Exquisite delight slammed into her, through her, and into him.

Her body clenched, seized around him. He wheezed a plea and bent his head to draw sharply on one nipple, and then the other.

It was the nip that did her in, took her, drove her over the edge.

Sanity flew.

Bliss rained down on her.

He'd brought her to a sweet peak several times today, but nothing compared with this . . . this completeness. As though, for once in her life, her soul had been gently caressed, and fed to satiety.

He continued moving, even as she imploded, though his lunges devolved into short, hard thrusts as he lost hold on his reins as well. With a low growl, he buried himself deeply, one last time. She felt him quiver within her as he released his seed.

And then he collapsed on top of her.

She loved the feeling. All of it. The continuing shivers of ecstasy. The weight of his hard body. His heat surrounding her.

She felt safe, and adored, and loved.

The feeling delighted her, so she laughed. He winced and eased out, pausing only to strip off the condom before he folded her into his arms. He held her tightly as he fought for breath. She curled closer, reveling in the pounding of his heart against her cheek.

So this was what it was like.