Denim Blues: Montana Heirs 1

by Ashley Kay

  “Haven’t seen you in a while and wanted to ask if you would meet me down in the archery yard for some practice tonight. We have that retreat coming up in a couple of months and thought it would be good if you knew some things before going.”

  I wring my hands in front of me, worried he’ll reject the idea. I must try to be friends at least. Grey asked me to help him.

  Sighing, he walks over to his desk and flops down the file. “I’m really busy right now, there’s a lot to go over here and I don’t think I need to know any of those things, especially archery, Ms. Martin.”

  I take a step back. Ouch, that stings.

  “That’s what we’re back to, huh? Ms. Martin, Mr. Lee.” Annoyance and hurt mark my words.

  He crinkles his brows. “Is that not being respectful? What were you expecting?”

  I clench my fists to my sides. “I don’t know. Clearly I should have expected nothing. I thought we were at least going to be friends after I helped you with your ankle and let you sleep on my couch. I wasn’t expecting a proposal, you nimrod, just trying to be nice!” Tears prick the back of my eyelids and I vow not to release them, not in front of him.

  His face is granite; unbreakable, cold. Is there any warmth within him? Why am I even upset? He’s obviously not bent out of shape over me. I should have more self-respect.

  Ignoring my outburst, he finally breaks his stony façade and something akin to aggravation clouds his voice, “Not sure how Lukas would feel about us practicing archery together.” He sits back on the edge of his desk, crossing his arms, his dress shirt tightening around his biceps and chest.

  Forcing my gaze up to the intensity in his face, I scrunch up my nose. “Lukas? What does he have to do with anything?”

  “You two looked awfully cozy earlier.”

  I huff out a laugh. “That’s funny. You should be a comedian. Lukas is just another trainer, and he flirts with anything that has a pulse. Even if there was something going on with him, I can be friends with whomever I want. Even you, Mr. Freeze.”

  He cocks an eyebrow, a smile forming at the corner of his mouth. “Mr. Freeze? You have a lot of nicknames for me, don’t you?” Standing to his full height, he prowls toward me, stopping just short of being in my personal space.

  “If you didn’t operate with so many different personalities, I could probably find the one that suits you best.” I shrug, trying to ignore how divine he smells.

  His fiery gaze never leaves my face, the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. I’m not feeling so cold anymore as sweat pools under my arms and rolls down my back. I’m supposed to be irritated with him, not ready to jump his bones just because he looks at me like I’m a tasty snack and smells like the cologne insert in a magazine. You know, the ones with the sexy guy emerging from the water with like eight abs and tiny swim trucks.

  My brain completely short circuits when his hand reaches out to trail a finger slowly up my arm. Electricity buzzes in the air, a vibration tying us together, merely a thread, but enough to shut off logic and turn on all my senses.

  “How about just calling me Preston?” The rich timbre of his voice rumbles deep in his chest as he steps closer, his hand now up over my shoulder and settling on the crook of my neck, the other anchoring to my waist, fingers splayed across my hipbone.

  I somehow squeak out a response while his palm, heavy on my skin, brands me as he skates over my frantic pulse. “Naw, cowboy, it’s too much fun seeing how you react to each one I come up with.”

  His hair, dark and wavy with strands hanging low on his forehead, makes him appear sweet and boyish, but I know he’s every bit of a man. Reaching up hesitantly with my fingertips to touch them, he grabs my hand to place it behind his neck, drawing our bodies flush against each other.

  I gasp, floating my attention up to his darkening eyes. He leans in, his nose grazing mine, our lips only centimeters apart. Our breaths mingle, and I lose all sense of time. His forehead comes to rest on mine and his eyes slowly close before his throaty voice breaks through the sexual tension.

  “Savy, I don’t know what’s going on here, but it’s hard to just look at you and not want to kiss you. I’m not good for you, but fuck, this is difficult.” His lips speak over mine and that whisper of a kiss almost unravels all the walls I’ve built up over the years.

  Once my brain fires back up, I untangle myself from his embrace. “I’ll make it easy for you then.” My chest heaves with each uneven breath. “We don’t touch. Friends don’t get as close as we just did, and you were clear that’s all we can be because you don’t do relationships. I respect that. I also don’t jump into bed with any man whenever I feel like it. I won’t deny the attraction, it’s clearly there, but that’s all it is, it shouldn’t be that hard to ignore.”

  He snorts like he doesn’t believe me, but gives me space, sinking back down on the corner of his desk. I’m not sure I believe it myself, but this is what must happen. He spelled out very clearly that he’s not the one for me.

  “Come train with me. As friends. Prove to Greyson that you’re capable of making it in his world despite what’s going on between you two.”

  He scrubs at his chin, his focus on what’s outside the window before bringing his face to me, pinning me with his stare. “Fine. I’ll do it and I’ll agree to your no-touching rule. Only because I truly think you deserve better.”

  Nodding, I back out of the office doorway. “Meet me down in the archery yard at seven. It’s after hours, so you won’t embarrass yourself too terribly in front of others.”

  “Alright Montana, I’ll see you later. Fair warning though, as your friend, I can’t be responsible for anything that comes out of my mouth. You know—since I’m not trying to impress you anymore.” Winking, he straightens up and maneuvers back around his desk, effectively dismissing me and making me wish I hadn’t just come up with that ridiculous rule.

  It’s not until I’m at the bottom of the stairs that I realize what I just did. I made a deal with the devil. This is going to take more self-control than I have. Chastising myself because this isn’t some insta-love romance novel, I resolve to stay true to my word. Just friends and no touching the Greek god upstairs.

  It’s difficult to get through the rest of the workday, but I make it out alive. Twitchy with pent up energy, I run around the outdoor track to pass the time until I have to go back.

  Pounding pavement, my thoughts backtrack to the conversation Preston and I had about my failed marriage. I didn’t tell him everything about what went down between Brody and I. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to see his pity. Brody leaving and stomping all over my heart was enough. My mother dying and leaving me and my siblings was the hardest blow in my life. That I can’t … well, that’s enough to keep me alone for the rest of my life. Enough to break me and leave me scattered to the winds.

  Something about Preston, though, has me believing he just might understand. I feel a kindred spirit with him—his tough exterior just masks all the pain. Underneath it lurks a beautiful human aching to come back to the surface. Greyson hurt him terribly. He wears the scars on his sleeve and not as a badge of honor.

  With every lap under my feet, curiosity eats at me. I need to know what happened and I hate being in the dark, but I promised not to pry, so I’ll try to remain in this ignorant, blissful bubble for as long as I can.

  Back at home, I shower and take extra time to blow out my hair and apply a minimal amount of make-up to my face. This isn’t a date of course, but I can’t help feeling like I want to make a good impression. Or at least get him riled up a bit. A flustered and irritated Preston is a sexy man. And yes, I know I’m playing with fire (again!), but sometimes you’re so cold you’ll do anything to feel the heat.

  My mind floats to how he could use that passion and intensity on me. Images of frenzied kisses and roaming hands flood my system, heating my face. Looking in the mirror, I hold my flaming cheeks. No need for blush tonight.

  Why did I initiate a no-touch
ing clause again? Oh yeah, to preserve my heart because it matters to me. But then why do I feel like amending that rule?

  I arrive early. The walk over is brisk, but the nerves in my stomach block any sensation of the cold. Sos is quiet and mostly dark. The only light shining through is what the moon sheds. Small can lights dot the ceiling, emitting a soft, warm glow. Not wanting to blind us with the bright fluorescents, I opt to only turn on just a few more so we can at least see the targets and equipment.

  Pulling my bow off the rack, I make sure it’s in working condition and quickly nock an arrow, letting loose a practice shot.

  Chunk.

  The sound reverberates down into my bones. There’s a finality to that sound. The moment between life and death. Out in the wilderness, it means I reached my target—I was safe, fed. Here, it reminds me of all I’ve accomplished. Years of practice to hone my craft and I’m satisfied with the outcome. I’m proud of what I’ve achieved, despite the challenges I faced.

  I wish my mom was here to see me. I did this all for her. She was my rock, that steady love, unconditional and true. She used to tell me that time was a gift, no matter how much of it we were blessed with, so use it wisely. I wanted to use my time here at SoS to be around those I cared about. That includes Preston.

  Nocking another arrow, the sound of a door shutting up front jolts me out of my headspace. I spin around, bow still engaged in front of me, and watch as Preston saunters toward me.

  My eyes bug out and I’m positive my mouth is hanging open. He’s dressed down, but that doesn’t take away from his commanding presence. Jeans, hiking boots, and the softest flannel shirt in blues that only bring out the blues in his eyes adorn his muscular body. He distracts me so much that my hold on the arrow falters and it flies straight into the ground, close to his feet.

  Shocked, I gasp as he expels a big, throaty laugh.

  “This is the training I’m going to receive from you? Maybe I should get another trainer, so I don’t get impaled by this one.” Amusement dances in his eyes as he shrugs off his jacket.

  “I’m so sorry! That never happens … I was just surprised. You look … so country.” Embarrassment floods my face, and I’m glad my hair is down to hide my burning cheeks.

  He checks out his own outfit and chuckles as he plucks at his shirt. “Oh yeah, these clothes, they’d catch anyone off guard, especially those at home. They’d probably ask if I was lost and needed directions to the next rodeo.”

  “I could arrange that for you, if you’d like me too.” I smirk when he gives me a look that says over my dead body.“Suits aren’t practical here, so you better get used to denim and t-shirts. Looks good on you though. Makes your eyes stand out.”

  Those said eyes sparkle and my nerves clatter together. He’s relaxed, like the night in my kitchen. It’s softened his hard edges. Taking a few more steps closer to me, I notice his slight limp.

  “How’s your ankle?” I ask, clutching my bow in front of me like a shield. A Preston shield.

  Lifting his foot, he wiggles it around. “It’s still sore, but I can at least walk and move it more. I had this brilliant doctor patch me right up.” He winks at me, sending my stomach fluttering.

  “It was no big deal,” I murmur.

  Angling his head and putting his hands in his pockets, he asks, “Now that you have me here, what do you plan on doing with me?”

  Was he flirting with me? I blush again, my mind racing with possibilities. Let’s see, ogle your body, make-out, stare at you like a love-struck teen. You name it, I’m probably thinking about it.

  Playing it cool, I reply, “I need to fit you for a bow, cowboy. Stand with your arms outstretched, I have to measure your wingspan.”

  He does as I ask, bright eyes following my every move. I take my measuring tape and with his help, plus a hefty dose of his fantastic cologne, barely get an accurate number without my hands shaking.

  “Wow, your wingspan is so long,” I whisper to myself.

  “That’s not the only thing that’s long about me.”

  I blink. Oh my god. I stare at the ground, wishing it was quicksand so it could suck out the image rooted in my mind.

  He pipes up again, “I’m talking about my memory, Montana, get your head out of the gutter.” He has a full mile-wide smile on his face, his dimple so deep.

  My mind is so far in the gutter, I’m going to have to pay rent after witnessing that megawatt smile. Much better than his surly scowl. Rolling up the measuring tape, I laugh. “Uh-huh, sure, I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

  Attaching his strings to a bow, I hand it over to him, along with an arrow. Our fingers brush, and a tingling sensation surges over my skin. Seriously? I feel like this is getting out of hand.

  Preston pauses, holding both the bow and the arrow, regarding them with suspicion.

  I giggle. This is how everyone looks when they first hold a bow and arrow. “Here, this is how you hold it.” I model how he should stand and observe as he mimics me, looking every bit an ancient god. All he needs is a toga.

  Trying my hardest to concentrate on the task at hand, I show him how to nock an arrow into the bow. He’s a quick study, swiftly getting into the correct position. I put my bow down and move toward him to adjust his stance. His sleeves are rolled up and I lightly touch his forearm, the dark hairs soft under my fingertips. My skin sizzles, and my body’s response to his makes me feel insane.

  As I lift his elbows to be parallel to the ground, I’m aware of his intense stare on me. He then thankfully shifts his focus to the target, allowing me a moment to collect myself. In one swift movement, he lets his arrow fly. Falling short, a curse slips from him. Feeling cocky, I pick up my bow and watch as it plunks dead in the center of the target.

  “Show off,” he quips with a crooked grin. My heart swells, my skills intimidate or irritate most men.

  “I’ve had a lot of years of practice.”

  “It shows. You’re right up there with Katniss.”

  My mouth gapes. “You’ve seen The Hunger Games?”

  “Read. I read The Hunger Games.” He wears a sheepish grin while scratching the back of his head.

  Color me impressed. A fellow nerd like me. Well, probably closeted nerd, but I’ll take it.

  “It’s a magnificent series, I’m glad you read it, and you’re right, Katniss is the bomb. Peeta on the other hand…”

  “Made good bread?” This leaves us both laughing and discussing the merits of food during the fight for your life in Panem.

  Changing subjects, he holds out the bow, examining it, arching a perfectly groomed brow. “Is this the only type of bow you use?”

  I point to the rack next to us. “Most bows here are practice bows. The one we’re using is called a compound bow. It operates using a lever system. Cables and pulleys.” I lightly tug on a pulley and flick the string. “The limbs here are stiffer and make it more energy-efficient, especially when it’s used for hunting.” I’m sliding into trainer mode, but Preston’s rolling with it.

  “Which one’s your favorite?” he asks, his attention on the various bows on display.

  “See the one that’s really tall? When the strings are held taut, it forms the letter D. It’s called a traditional longbow. I have dated some designs back to fourth century AD. It’s like I’m a part of history when I practice with it. My dad got me one when I was a teen and I had it forever until it broke. It snapped in the woods, didn’t realize it was under my feet.” I frown. “I miss it.”

  “I’m impressed. You know your stuff. Remind me to never piss you off.”

  “Don’t do anything to piss me off, then. Nothing like staring at the end of a sharp object wielded by a scorned woman.” I give him a side-eye, biting my lip.

  He grins, snagging an arrow from the tube of practice ones. Taking his time to set it up as I showed him, he has it locked and loaded within seconds. I watch quietly as he goes through the standard motions. He pulls the arrow back, the tension in his arms stressing his
muscular forearms. I gulp, failing miserably to hide my fascination with his sculpted body.

  He casually slides his eyes over to me. “You like what you see, Montana?”

  I cough. Good lord, can I be any more obvious.

  Straightening my back, I point to the far target along the wall, averting my eyes. “Focus. I want you to hit that target.”

  “Demanding. I like it.”

  I glance back over at him, and he’s smirking. I throw my hands in the air and narrow my eyes in mock irritation. “How are we going to get through this session if you keep flirting with me?”

  He was flirting, and I like it too much. I like this side of him, a bit more carefree, a little less rigid with a sizable dose of unassuming sexiness. I know he’s only here temporarily, but sometimes you gotta just live in the moment. Life is meant to be lived, not watched from afar.

  “I told you I can’t seem to help myself around you, and I warned you this afternoon.” He locks his hungry eyes with mine as he mimics my earlier move, letting his arrow go without so much as a glance to where it lands.

  The roaring of blood in my ears muffles the sound of the arrow hitting the wall. His glittering eyes are dark in the reflected moonlight. My breath catches, flames licking my lower belly as warmth floods me. There’s a distinct attraction in the air, crackling and burning slowly in the space between us. Like a moth, he gravitates toward me, my feet rooted to the ground, stunned into submission.

  He prowls, chest heaving as his breathing increases. My knees are wobbly and I’m losing all practiced control. The temperature rises, my breaths become shallow, and my lungs seize under the weight of his predatory gaze. Soon, we’re toe-to-toe, me looking up at his face, the rest of the world fading away. My tongue peeks out to lick my top lip, and he lunges.

  In a flash of denim and flannel, he’s pinned me to the wall, caging me in with his arms. My blood pulses and surges in my body, grappling with this reality. I have nowhere else to go and nowhere else I’d rather be.

  “We’re breaking the rules,” I whisper, hoping my voice doesn’t betray my thoughts.