I’m tempted to tell him I already had a deep tissue massage and a bubble bath. Thisisme, relaxed.
“Our little project is going to take a few days, sweetheart,” he says, moving his hand to the door knob. His eyes rake over me and I get the feeling he’s already stripping me down to nothing in his mind. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”
I nod breathlessly. “I agree. I’m nervous. I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“Well, now you know what’s coming. Tomorrow night, give me a real welcome. Wear a short, slinky dress. No bra. No panties. Act like you’ve been thinking about me all day and can’t wait forme to be inside you. I want to slide my hand up your thigh and feel how soaked you are just from waiting.”
His gaze drops to my thighs, to my toes, and back to my face, promising every filthy thing.
“And Maisie?” He pauses in the doorway, flashing that dangerous cowboy smirk. “Start thinking about how bad you want to please me, because tomorrow I’m going to teach you exactly what a good wife does the second her man’s home.”
He tips his hat once, then he’s gone.
Tomorrow feels like a lifetime away and way too close all at once.
***
Brecken
I step out of Maisie’s suite and ease the door shut behind me. My boots thud against the polished floor as I head toward the lobby, but my mind’s still back in that room with her soft curves pressed against me, hearing the sweet moan she let slip when my thumb found her nipple.
Damn, she felt a little too good. Too right. Like she was made to fit in my arms. I can still taste her pink lip gloss … I shake my head, trying to clear the fog.
What is wrong with me? I’ve done this gig for Laramie before. Many times, and never once have I walked away feeling confused as hell.
Why would any sane man be okay with someone else touching his girl? She said her fiancé gave her the green light. Who says, “Have fun babe?” Who lets a woman like Maisie walk into a place like this and hand her over for “training”?
She’s marrying him next week. Shouldn’t she be over the moon? Glowing, giggling about dresses and flowers, not quietly terrified she won’t be enough to keep him satisfied long-term? The worry in her voice when she whispered “yes” to me on thephone twisted something in my gut. She’s too sweet, too young, and too damn perfect to carry that kind of doubt.
I hit the lobby and slow my stride. Pleasure Ranch at night feels different, with the dim lights casting a warm gold over the massive stone fireplace. The check-in desk is polished to a gleam. Behind it, the wide windows frame the dark Montana hills, with the stars punching through the black sky like diamonds.
I round the corner and see Laramie’s working late. She peeks up from her computer with her reading glasses perched on her nose. “Brecken Wade. That was fast. Did I strike out and send you to a dud?”
“You? Fail to make a match?” I give her a grin. “Nah. We’re meeting again tomorrow night. It’s complicated. Tonight was our warm up.”
Laramie tilts her head, studying me like she can see straight through the bullshit. “Riding lessons aren’t that complex, Brecken. Are you positive she didn’t scare you?”
I snort. “Don’t be ridiculous. Just doing the job.”
“Sure you are. Go get some rest, cowboy. You’ve got horses to wrangle at dawn.”
“No doubt, they’ll be waiting the minute my eyes open. Have a good night.” I tip my hat with a smile and push through the heavy front doors.
The cool night air hits me with the scents of pine and sage as I take the winding path behind the main resort building to the staff bunkhouse.
Pleasure Ranch is close to a decent chunk of land I own a few miles east, where I run a small herd, and collect pretty much any stray that comes along. I’ve got a menagerie of cattle, horses, dogs, cats, turkeys, even a couple of ornery goats that wandered in last spring.
I only pick up shifts here a few times a week, and it saves time when I spend the night. My crew will cover for me tomorrow, they always do. Most of them have been with me for years, and I trust them with my life, besides, a cold shower will do me good.
I open the door to the main room, smelling coffee, leather and boot polish. The TV’s blasting, and the fire’s roaring. Some of the guys are sprawled on the worn couches with their eyes glued to the screen, where some bull rider’s getting tossed in slow motion.
“Breck! Get over here, man,” Tommy calls out from the recliner, waving a beer. “You gotta see the replay.”
Another hand, Ricky, grins from the floor where he’s nursing a whiskey. “Yeah, c’mon. You look like you could use a cold one after whatever kept you out so late.”
I force a laugh. “Appreciate it, boys, but I have an early start. Horses don’t feed themselves.”
Tommy snorts. “What happened to the Brecken who’d stay up watchin’ highlights till dawn?”
