by Tessa Layne
Leaving the phone - he'd get that later - he stalked out of the cabin and hopped in his truck, revving the engine extra hard when he gunned it in reverse. He sped the six minutes to Cecilia's, ignoring all the speedlimit signs. Fuck the speed limit. He careened to a stop directly in front of Cecilia's porch and hopped out, leaping over the front steps and bursting into the house. "CiCi," he hollered. "Where are you?"
"Trace?" she appeared in the hall, wide-eyed, clutching a wooden spoon. "Are you okay?"
He closed the distance between them, pulling her close with one arm, fisting his hand in her long silky locks with the other, and crushing his mouth to hers. With a moan, she opened, pliant and soft, spoon clattering to the floor as her arms looped around his neck. Everything fell away except the taste of her, the heat of her, and the way she gave as good as she got.
"Trace, what's wrong?" she asked, still wide-eyed, when they finally pulled apart.
"Nothing," he growled. "Everything." He scooped her up and carried her the few steps into the kitchen, setting her on the counter and bracing his arms on either side of her. "I'm not... I'm different," he rasped, unable to catch his breath. "Than before. Being here... has changed me. You make me want to be a better man. The best man. Just promise me, you'll always remember that?"
A tender expression softened her features as she cupped his jaw. "Always," she whispered.
His heart felt like it would squeeze into a million pieces. "I don't care what other people say. You mean something. This. Means something."
"Of course," she echoed with a nod.
He cupped her face, scanning for any signs of doubt, and when he didn't find any, took her mouth claiming her in the most primal way. She pulled at his shirt, and with one hand he yanked it over his head, tossing it aside. He did the same with her thin tank, exposing her beautiful smooth tits. He cupped her breasts, flicking a thumb over the already taut nipples. "Perfection," he muttered. "You're perfection, Cecilia." She made a noise in the back of her throat, the one that made him instantly hard as steel. He kissed her hard and deep, then made his way down the side of her neck, pausing at the places he knew drove her wild. He claimed a tight bud, tonguing it until she cried out clutching his head, then made his way to the other, working it until she muttered a string of profanity. "Pants," she hissed. "Now."
He helped her off the counter and toed off his boots, sending them flying across the kitchen. It took her even less time to drop her sweats and before his hands were at his belt buckle, she was there, yanking and pulling, shoving and pushing until his cock sprung free, heavy and hard. He stepped out of his jeans, then picked her up and set her ass on the large wooden farm table. "Say the word and I'll run upstairs for a condom." He'd do whatever she asked, without question.
She blinked, gazing up at him with the softest eyes. "I trust you, Trace," she whispered. "I have an IUD."
God help him, but he didn't care. If she'd said she wanted his babies, he'd have enthusiastically complied. His brain fast-forwarded. Hell, he wanted to hear her say those words, damn the consequences. With a growl, he pulled her hips forward, teasing the head of his cock at her entrance, coating himself in her slick heat. He'd never... not even once. He'd been so afraid of a paternity suit, he'd been militant about protection. But this... he needed to be inside Cecilia, filling her up, showing her how he felt. It hit him right in the sternum. He needed her as much as his next breath.
A tremor shook him. He didn't deserve this. He'd do everything in his power to be worthy. "Cecilia." He spoke her name like a prayer as he slowly slid into her tight wet heat, groaning as he felt her clutch around him.
"Oh, Trace," she sighed. "So good."
"So good," he echoed, unable to say other, more important words rioting through his brain. He seated himself fully, then pushed harder, because it wasn't enough. He registered a leg wrapping around him as he drew out and slowly rocked back in as far as he could and then some, because she felt... So. Damned. Good.
"Yes, just like that," she gasped, fingernails digging into his shoulders. "More. I need more."
His chest puffed. He felt... invincible, like a lion ready to roar. With a deep cry she clenched around him as her orgasm hit her. "That's it, baby. Come for me. Let it out." He stroked into her, wanting this to be everything she'd ever hoped for and teetering on the edge of oblivion himself. One more thrust, and his orgasm coiled up the back of his legs, and exploded behind his eyes like a bomb. He didn't recognize the sound from his throat as he pumped and spilled his seed inside her. His vision went fuzzy.
Cecilia sagged against him with a sheepish laugh. "Wow." Her mouth split into a lopsided grin. "You okay?"
Yes. Hell, yes. More than okay. He'd just orbited the moon with her. He nodded, bending to place a tender kiss on her sweet lips. "Perfect."
"Did you... want to talk about something?"
He shook his head. Declarations and confessions could come later. For now, he wanted to bask in the glow of whatever it was that bound them together. "Just nerves about this weekend, I guess."
She reached up, cupping his face - a move he'd never tire of. "I'll be right there watching."
He didn't deserve her blind faith. But he'd work damned hard to earn it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
"We're done here," Jaxon said with a clap on the back. "Thanks again for your help."
"Sure thing," Trace answered the next evening. "Happy to help." Better to distract himself with physical labor.
"You headed up to the cowboy dance?"
Trace shook his head. "Not yet. I want to clear my head."
"Ahh," Jax answered with a knowing look. "Sizing up the competition?"
"Something like that." More like figuring out how to manage the competing emotions inside his head.
"These are all good bulls, and you've worked hard. Remember, ninety percent of bull riding is mental. If you're in the right frame of mind tomorrow afternoon, you'll be great." Jaxon's smile turned sly. "But talking to them always helps. I'll leave you alone."
Trace lifted a hand as Jaxon took off toward the other end of the Strong City rodeo arena and the building where the traditional Friday night cowboy dance was taking place. He'd be along soon enough. Cecilia was waiting there for him, but after yesterday's events, he needed to think. He wasn't exactly having second thoughts about selling his house - once he made up his mind, that was that. No looking back. But in the cold light of day with his dick safely tucked away, he wondered what selling would mean for his career? If he left Hollywood, he was as good as admitting he was done forever, wasn't he? There were certainly plenty of people who would cheer if that happened.
What if he pursued a future with Cecilia... were they doomed from the start? And not just because he'd hidden his identity? He couldn't imagine her approving of his old life, or wanting to be a part of it. One thing was certain, he had to come clean. There was no way she'd run for the paparazzi like Portia predicted. He'd bet his entire bank account on it. But that didn't mean she wouldn't push him away, either. He was more afraid of that. But when? And how? And if he walked away from Hollywood for good, what would he do? He didn't know how to do anything else. He wasn't very handy, and he was too old to make a career out of bull riding, exhilarating as it was. He stared at the bull slowly munching his cud. "What do you think, big guy? What would you do?"
At the far end of the row stood a solitary figure he immediately recognized as belonging to Ty Sloane - one of the greats - who was back in Prairie of all places, working toward making a comeback. He felt a kinship with Ty he didn't with the other guys. Probably something to do with the fact that Ty'd fallen from grace. But in Ty's case, he wasn't hiding from it. He'd picked himself up and was living his life again - and fuck anyone who judged him for it. "Ty? Is that you?" He edged closer still giving the legend a little breathing room. "Everything okay?"
Ty shook his head. “Pre-ride jitters, I guess.”
“You? Really?” Trace asked, shocked. “I never would’ve gue
ssed a legend like you got nervous.”
Ty grinned. “Surprise. I always made sure to visit the pens before a ride. You know, to size up the competition.”
“Right? Seems like a good place to get your head on straight."
“That, too. Bulls don’t sass back.”
Trace laughed quietly, thoughts immediately turning to Cecilia. “They’re uncomplicated. Predictable.”
“You're right about the uncomplicated part. But don’t be lulled into thinking they’re predictable. Just like a woman, as soon as you think you’ve figured out a bull, they’ll do the last thing you expect. Ignore that, and you’ll end up ass over teakettle faster than you can blink.”
“Sounds like you’ve got lady problems,” Trace said with a grin.
“Don’t we all?” Ty answered with a chuckle.
Trace nodded his agreement. "Always.” Although he doubted Ty's life was anywhere near as complicated as his.
“Wanna talk about it?” Ty offered.
Trace cocked his head, ready to decline. What could Ty possibly know about the whirlwind swirling in his head right now? On the other hand, this was the first time any of the guys he knew had cared enough to talk about something deeper than platitudes. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure, anything.”
“How do you guys manage? With the constant work and the travel? How does anyone survive?”
“A relationship? Or life?”
Trace shrugged. “Both, I guess.”
“I’ll answer the life part first,” Ty began. “Most of us ended up here because it’s our heritage. We didn’t necessarily choose it — although most of us can’t imagine our lives without it.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Well, you know Cody and Colt. Their families have been ranching in this area for close to one-hundred-fifty years. Ranching… farming. It’s in our blood. Most of us are born into it and will die doing it. It’s… just the way it is for us. And we’re proud of it.”
“You too?”
Ty shrugged. “More or less. I grew up in the Rocky Mountains. Ranching was a way of life for my people, but my immediate family… struggled,” he admitted after a pause. “So for me, rodeo saved me. It was an escape. But I’ll go back to ranching eventually. And probably keep helping Cody and Colt with their bull-riding school.”
Trace admired the heck out of those two. They had it all. But it wasn't like Trace could just march up to them and ask for life lessons on how to settle down and... just be happy. “So how do they do it?"
Ty nodded. “Well, first, they married great women. Find yourself a great woman and you can overcome anything.”
Ha. His brain froze, fixating on a vision of Cecilia laughing at something he'd said. It was one thing to have an affair, but quite another to ask her to change her dreams to match his. “Easier said than done," he mumbled with more than a little frustration.
“Right?” Ty braced his hands on the pen. “Colt and his wife traveled together for a bit, Cody and Carolina did the long-distance thing. Then they both retired. You can’t ride bulls forever."
“So what you’re saying is that you guys quit your careers for love?” Well, shit. He was selling his house, but would he be happy never working on another set? Even if Cecilia asked? That... was a hard pill to swallow.
“No, it’s not that. They didn’t quit, their priorities shifted. Look, rodeoing is a hard life. Most of us do it for a time, then do something else. And for everyone, that something else is different.”
He hadn't looked at it in terms of shifting priorities... so maybe the choice wasn't either - or? And if that was the case, was he willing to go the distance with Cecilia even if he had to wait for her to be ready? He could wait. But for how long? a small voice taunted him. Your mother never returned. He was old enough to realize that had everything to do with her, but the familiar pang ached nonetheless. He'd always longed for a family, yet had organized his life so that a family of any kind wasn't possible. And that... was going to take some unpacking. “Huh.” Trace made a face. “You know the problem about asking for advice?”
“It’s never what you want to hear?” Ty grinned. “That’s why I never ask for it.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
August
* * *
"CiCi," Dottie hollered from the front. "You got company."
Cecilia dried her hands and pushed through the swing doors that led from the kitchen to the front of the diner. She quickly ran through a list of potential visitors and fell short. Who in the heck would be visiting her at work on a Thursday? Dottie motioned to the well-dressed woman sitting at the end of the Formica counter. Obviously, she wasn't from here. And upon closer inspection, Cecilia was quite certain she'd never seen the woman before in her life. "Uh, hi," she said politely, staying behind the counter and making no move to shake hands. "Can I help you?"
The woman flashed her a plastic smile. Now that she'd been home a couple of months, stuff like that was instantly recognizable. Had she fallen into that while she'd been away? Probably, and thank goodness being home in Prairie was like a giant reset button. "I sure hope so. You're Cecilia Sanchez, yes?"
She nodded. "And you are?"
"Marissa Michels, editor-in-chief of the Atlantic Journal." She extended her hand across the counter. "I'd like to talk to you about a story you submitted."
Cecilia cocked her head, baffled. "I don't think I submitted any story?" She was sure of it.
"You'll be getting a call shortly from my husband, Everic Martin. He's editor-in-chief at the D.C. Press. Tell him I beat him to the punch."
"I'm sorry, but I don't understand."
"I told him yesterday this was my story and he damn well better lay off."
Cecilia blinked. "What are you talking about?" her voice rose, but not too much, because the diner was still half-full of morning regulars.
"Your story? About the Chicago Madame?" Dottie said in hushed tones, looking both ways to make sure no one was listening.
"Wait." Cecilia was instantly on guard. "How do you know about that?"
"Can I have some coffee? Three creams and two sugars."
Was this woman for real? "Yeah, sure. Be right back." Cecilia shook her head and filled her cup, then slid over three creams and two sugars, just like she'd asked.
Marissa doctored her coffee while she spoke. "I got it from a friend who got it from a friend who thought it would be a good fit for our audience. But then my husband stole it off my dresser, and now he's intent on stealing you from me." She swirled a red-painted fingernail at Cecilia's nose, giving her a stern look. "So name your price. Even if I have to pay you out of my own bank account, I'm not letting him have you."
Cecilia's mind raced. What did one even ask for an investigative piece? Did she get to pick a number out of thin air? Wasn't there a manual for this kind of thing? More importantly, how in the hell did she get wind of the story? Let alone a copy? "Umm are you sure you have the right person?" This was all too weird. She could count on one hand the number of people who knew about the story, starting with Bob. Was this some bone Bob was throwing her direction out of a sense of overwhelming guilt? That must be it, because while Izzie and Jeanine knew about it, they hadn't read the article, and Trace had seen a snippet, but she'd binned that copy. And unless someone had broken into her house and stolen the thumb drive from her old jewelry box, then it had to have been Bob. Which meant this lady was legit. She held up a finger. "Umm... can you hold on a minute? I'll be right back." Cecilia turned and fled down the length of the counter, then down the hall to the ladies'. She slammed the door behind her and leaned back against it, on the verge of hyperventilating.
"Think, CiCi, think," she muttered, pressing her fingers into her temples. Mariah. She needed to call her sister. Yanking her phone out of her back pocket, she thumbed through her favorites, and pushed on her sister's icon.
"Are you kidding me?" Mariah mumbled in a voice still thick with sleep. "Do you have any idea what t
ime it is?"
"I swear, it's important."
"I'll tell you what time it is - it's three-thirty... in the morning," Mariah whined.
Cecilia winced. "I'm sorry. What city are you in again? I knew you were somewhere... over there," she motioned with her hands.
"And by over there, you mean Auckland? Because, yes... I'm over there. And couldn't this have waited another ninety minutes?"
"I swear, I'm so sorry. I'll make it up to you at Christmas."
"Me too," Harrison growled in the background.
"Wait, Harry's with you?"
"Surprise," Mariah said weakly. "He had a deal in Tokyo, so he stopped over."
"Oh man. I'm so sorry. Should I call back? I can call someone else."
"No way. What's going on?"
Cecilia's heart began to race. "So there's this lady, and she's sitting at the counter-"
"You're at work?" Mariah's voice sharpened. "Okay, spill."
"So she's the editor-in-chief from the Atlantic Journal and she wants my story. She said to name my price, and that she'll pay out of pocket because she doesn't want her husband to get it."
"Hang on." The noise became garbled. She must have covered the phone. "Hang on. Harrison wants to talk to you."
"How's it going Ceece?" Harry sounded like he'd had six cups of coffee. Cecilia swore the man never slept. Which explained why he was the CEO of a bazillion dollar conglomerate. "Can you recap?"
"Sure." Cecilia re-explained. "And I have no idea what to do."
"First of all, are you convinced they won't steal your work?"
"Noo... but there are only a small number of people she could have received the manuscript from, and I've saved separate versions to the cloud as well as my thumb drive, so it's all time-stamped."
"Good for you. So, remember, the number you start with is the number you negotiate from."
"So I should ask for a cool mil?"
Harrison's smile came through the line. "You're learning. But seriously, what do you want?"
