by Nicole Snow
Rosie’s clearly in the passenger seat, her wavy hair flopping around, but I can’t get a clear shot of her. Selleck backed his ride into the parking space and his rear window is covered with a window cling of a bull.
Still, I get a couple shots of him climbing out, walking around to the passenger side a minute later.
What’s he doing? Is he seriously gonna screw around with her right here in public?
Damn, it’s too perfect.
Trouble is, I can’t see through the cling, but he can, and he might notice if I move any closer.
Annoying.
Deciding I’ll have to wait until after the last events when I’ll have more people milling around for cover, I shift my stance and glance at the biffs.
Crap. Tory still hasn’t exited, and I wonder if her disappearing wasn’t just for show.
Maybe the burrito monster got her. She’s not used to eating like this.
Frankly, I’m amazed she even finished it when she had to take half her Mack burger home from the diner.
As the minutes tick by, my concern grows, and I wonder if I should go knock on the door and make sure she’s all right.
Just as I’m about to do that, a pickup door slams shut.
A quick glance over my shoulder shows Selleck entering the camper section of his stock trailer, while Rosie walks away from the truck, adjusting her top as she heads for the barns on the side of the arena.
A second later, the biff door opens and Tory walks out.
“You okay?” I hurry toward her. “I was beginning to wonder if you died in there, Peach.”
“I’m fine,” she says with a laugh. “And I believe I got just what you need.”
“What?” I squint at her.
“Not here,” she whispers, hooking her arm through mine and turning toward the grandstands. “Let’s go sit down again so the sun won’t be shining on my phone. I’ll show you.”
“Your phone? You got pictures of Selleck?”
It’s too good to be true.
She tugs at me to start walking beside her, so I do. “And a video. All I had to do was crack the biff door a little. Gave me a perfect shot of the space between his truck and trailer.”
“No shit?” An irresistible smile pulls at my lips.
“Really, Quinn. You’re set.”
“I owe you then, lady. And here I was scared the burrito made you sick as a dog.”
She laughs. “Hardly. That was the best freaking thing I’ve ever eaten.”
“Better than eggplant parmesan?”
Her laughter flows out of her and she tumbles against me, this soft slip of a woman with the world’s most infectious laugh.
Dammit, I’m grinning as I catch her, help steady her feet, and tighten my grip as we head back to the arena.
“I believe I’ve found granny’s kryptonite,” she whispers, her eyes narrowing with mischief. “All the more reason I have to make sure she tries it.”
“So that’s what’s going on. You’re trying to give the poor old gal indigestion.”
“Oh, I’m so onto her with that eggplant. She didn’t wriggle her way out of it tonight. Just delayed the inevitable.”
I smile, thinking Granny Coffey has met her match in her very own granddaughter.
As soon as we sit down in our seats, Tory hands me her phone.
“Here, have a look. Fair warning, it’s kinda graphic.”
Her cheeks are tinged bright pink, which makes me frown, until the video starts.
Holy shit.
This time the girl has good reason to blush.
It’s practically a bad porn clip featuring Selleck and Rosie, tits and ass galore. She’s sitting on the truck seat, and he’s standing next to the open door.
Her shirt is open, and he’s taken full advantage of her exposed tits, going at her like a fucking bear.
I twist the phone carefully and hold a hand over the screen, making sure no one around us can see what’s playing.
What’s on this screen right now definitely ain’t fit for polite company.
Despite my twisting and turning, it’s enough to identify both faces besides all the other skin showing.
William Selleck’s goose is about to get cooked to a crisp by Joyce’s lawyer.
Tory’s position in the biff gave her a clear shot of everything. Selleck kept glancing around between going to town on his mistress, but he never noticed the door cracked open in the rows and rows of portable toilets.
No wonder he’d gone straight inside his trailer.
After what they did, he’s bound to need some cooling off time.
“Can you send everything?” I ask, clicking off her phone.
Tory takes it back and glances at the screen with her lips twisted. “Hmm. It’s probably too big to text, but...I’ll upload it to the cloud and give you a shared password. You should be able to download it from there.”
“Thanks. That’ll do just fine for Grady to pass along, too.” I swallow, hard.
After watching that shit, and seeing how Tory blushed, a downright wicked part of me can’t resist acknowledging there’s a devil’s heat in my blood.
And it’s got nothing to do with the amateur clown show on the phone.
Just looking at Tory Three Names and the saucy red glow lingering on her cheeks fills me with a mad desire to kiss her.
Long, hard, and preferably somewhere more private than where Selleck decided to screw around and ruin his marriage.
Shit. Am I serious?
My hand trembles—fucking trembles—on my knee. It’s like I’ve been plugged into a current.
Pure electric heat throttles my heart while dangerous thoughts whip through my head.
This is Tory Three Names.
Peach.
Smart.
Classy.
Gorgeous.
Nimble.
Best friend.
Wet dream.
After that psycho jerkoff session in the shower, though, and the way I woke up hard as brick this morning with her stuck in my grey matter like a spur made of sunshine and lust...
Yeah, who the fuck knows what I’m thinking.
And maybe I’m not thinking at all anymore as I turn to her and see her staring with this soft, curious look pooling in her blue eyes. Shit, am I that obvious?
“Thanks again, Peach,” I tell her, clearing my throat and shifting my feet together. Whatever it takes to kill the sudden attack of the raging hard-on. “I would’ve had to do a lot more sleuthin’ without you.”
“No problem. I hope it helps you solve the case.”
“It will,” I tell her with a nod and a smile that feels carnivorous.
There’s no doubt about the debauchery she captured being perfect.
My desires, on the other hand...
The worst part is, they aren’t even hampered by the crowd or the excitement of the bull rides that finish the main rodeo event. Then folks pack their stuff up and a couple hundred voices clash through the night, their owners spilling outside, ready to look at animals and play overpriced games when they’re not buying up every last morsel from the food stands.
“Hey, want a beer or hard lemonade?” I ask as we exit the grandstand. “My treat for making my job easier.”
“A lemonade sounds refreshing,” she says, grabbing my arm as I push us through the slow-moving crowds. “Oh, wait, is that Bella Reed?”
“Larkin now,” I mutter.
Damn, and here I’d been hoping to get her alone.
“Oh, right. Let’s grab our drinks and say hello!”
Even as we do exactly that, I keep my arm locked around hers, pulling tighter, the rawness in my blood forcing me to keep a possessive hold.
Doesn’t seem to bother her. She looks at me funny a couple times before giving me that hellfire blush again a second later.
Fuck, I’m almost afraid of what she’s thinking.
Those pink cheeks, blue eyes, and cryptic Mona Lisa smiles of hers are gonna murder me before the ni
ght ends.
Once I’ve got an ice-cold beer and she’s sucking on her lemonade, we find my friends, who are all clustered together now.
Drake and Ridge join us, along with their wives, and the six of us wander to the midway. I can barely get a word in with the guys between Bella and Tory laughing up a storm over old times, Edison’s antics, all the times Bella’s grandpa was fit to be tied with that horse.
It’s well after sunset now.
The colorful lights shine brightly off the rides in the little carnival area they’ve set up.
I’m not sure who suggests we all take a ride on the Ferris wheel—a surprisingly big one for a little town like Dallas—but that’s what happens.
Taking her hand, I lead us into one of the small pods before the next ride starts up.
Once we’re buckled into our seats together and the door shuts, the big wheel grinds forward to load the next folks. Ridge, Grace, and Levi by the looks of it.
“What’s the matter?” I ask her, leaning in, wondering if she’s gone pale or it’s just my imagination.
“Um...I probably should’ve mentioned I’m not a huge fan of heights,” Tory says, hiding her face behind one slim hand.
“You aren’t?”
She shakes her head, still keeping her hand up.
“Aw, Peach. Why’d you agree to ride?”
“I just...I thought you wanted to.” She squeezes her eyes shut as the wheel lurches again, this time higher. She lets out a squeak, throwing one hand against the side of the pod and the other against my chest. “I didn’t want to disappoint you, Quinn.”
I move, looping an arm around her shoulders, trying to ignore the brutal urges flicking through my body.
“Not even possible. Riding this old thing doesn’t matter to me either way. I’ve got you,” I growl, pulling her face to my shoulder, tilting her chin up softly. “Just don’t look down.”
“Where else is there to look?” she asks quietly, her big eyes gazing up at mine like matching pools.
“Here.” I touch her under the chin, grazing a finger across her soft skin so she shudders. “Staring contest, just like old times. Look at me, Tory Three Names.”
“Oh my God. You haven’t called me that in years,” she snorts, closing her eyes.
“But now you’re not thinking about the heights, are you?”
“Oh. So just like this then?” Her eyes flutter open, this time less afraid. “We just gawk at each other the whole ride?”
For a second, I’m lost for words.
Her pretty face is bathed in tilted shadows, soft light, and I’m pretty damn sure it’s not just worry etched in her features anymore.
She’s looking at me with something else like wonder. Amusement. Anticipation.
Oh, hell.
“No,” I grind out, “I’ve got something less awkward in mind.”
Then whatever shred of restraint I had left gets obliterated.
Leaning forward, I push my forehead to hers and let my thirsty lips move in, drinking my fill of sin.
Not just a small peck.
Not second-guessing.
Not even wondering if we’ll hate ourselves in sixty seconds.
With the way she melts for me and whimpers against my tongue, and the way her little hand shakes on my shoulder, there’s only one thing I can do.
I kiss Tory with a full, fierce, tongue-probing kiss that leaves us both in flames.
9
Goat A Load of This (Tory)
Holy flipping hell.
I’m tasting Quinn Faulkner for the very first time and I think I’m already drunk.
I still don’t know what’s happening as his tongue finds mine, as he pulls me closer, as he growls into my mouth.
Yes, growls.
To be fair, I started it, letting that little moan slip out.
I’d say it was just surprise, but that’d be a total lie.
It’s want.
It’s need.
It’s straight-up obsession.
Sure, I know how insane that sounds, but the reality is even more ludicrously sexy.
Kissing Quinn is nothing like I’d ever imagined it would be.
I expected it to be tender, uncertain, and sticky sweet.
And even if all those things are there, little hints I feel every time his lips take over just a little more, every time his tongue chases mine, every time his hand slides across my face, sealing this white-hot bliss...
I can’t begin to describe how dominant, how intense, how all-consuming he kisses.
The man doesn’t ask.
He takes.
He rules.
And now—now and forever—there’s not even a shred of doubt in my brain as I give up, give in, and give out.
God.
The only sane thought I can still cling to is how bad I want to keep kissing him.
So I press harder against his chest, loving being so close, inhaling his masculine scent. I pour the last decade of yearning for this very moment into living it.
Quinn’s lips become my world.
It’s like the rest of reality melts away.
Nothing exists in our slick, hot, panting moment except us.
To call him an excellent kisser would be a hilarious understatement, but I love how tight he’s holding me, letting his free hand roam down my back, just to the edge of my butt.
Oh, wow.
I don’t want to stop, but it’s too much. Eventually, I have to catch my breath.
Jerking backward, I sputter, gasping for air.
Real smooth.
If he’s laughing, he doesn’t show it in the slightest.
Quinn lays his forehead against mine, breathing just as hard as I am.
“Tory, I—”
The second I’ve caught my breath, I capture his lips, preventing him from saying more, because honestly? I’m afraid of what he might say.
Scary words like we shouldn’t.
Believe me, I already know, but ask me if I’m going to stop.
Not when it feels too right. Too perfect. Too addicting.
I jump when the Ferris wheel finally stops and he pulls his lips off mine with a startled look. I don’t open my eyes, just lean my head against his chest, relishing the afterglow of a make-out session so hot I feel like he’s been inside me.
“Better keep your eyes closed,” he whispers.
“Why?” I ask, even while nodding.
“We’re perched on the top of the Ferris wheel,” he answers, a smirk bending his lips. “The very top, high over the rodeo. They’re starting to unload the other cars.”
Crap.
Gasping, I lean harder against him for support, staring into his wild green eyes so I don’t have to look down. It’s not just the long way to the ground that gets me.
Quinn’s kisses have already left me feeling like I’m on top of the world. Something no other man’s kiss ever accomplished—especially Jean-Paul’s.
Oof.
Inwardly, I flinch.
Why would I think about him right now? There’s nothing remotely comparable between my ex and Quinn Faulkner.
They’re as different as night and day.
Maybe that’s why my brain goes there, because they’re such stark opposites, drawing contrasts it shouldn’t.
Well, I know one thing—Jean-Paul Delong wouldn’t be caught dead kissing me on a rodeo Ferris wheel.
Though I can’t imagine Quinn attending a ballet, which makes me sigh.
Hey, if Mr. Perfect doesn’t exist, I know who comes dangerously close. And he’s drinking me in right now with those demanding emerald eyes.
They still look hungry, even after ravishing me for the entire ride with his lips.
A wicked pulse aches between my legs, and I’m afraid to wonder where this goes next. Do we wind up back at his place in a race to see who tears whose clothes off faster?
Do we even dare?
“You still okay, Tory?” he asks.
“I’m fine. Sorry,
it’s just the heights.”
I wish it was just the freaking phobia.
“Hang tight. We’re almost to the ground,” he tells me, pushing his fingers between mine.
I sit up and blink my eyes, willing myself to look out the little window.
We’re still a few carts from being released, but high enough to make my stomach flip.
His gentle hold on my hand tightens the instant I nearly break his freaking fingers off.
“S-sorry,” I whisper, trying to make myself relax.
“Do high places always bother you this much or just some?” he asks.
“Not always. Not all of them. Just...really, really high ones like this. If it’s more than thirty feet up, I embrace my inner baby.” I tense. “I saw it out of the corner of my eye, looks like you can see the whole town from up here.”
“You’re too funny.” He smiles. “So up here it’s too much but not hanging off gates over a deep ditch with an evil goat ramming your butt?”
My cheeks burn when he mentions the butt ramming.
Go ahead and laugh.
“That was different!” I hiss, pulsing my fingers in his. “It was far enough to jump, I just couldn’t because of my knee.”
“Whatever, Peach,” he says, a wry grin widening on his face. “You’re braver than you let on.”
Oh, hello, awkward blush.
It comes back with a vengeance because I’m sure he isn’t just talking about the ditch incident with Hellboy.
“It makes sense. I mean, as long as I know I can land safely on my feet or there’s something to grab on to, I’m fine. When I know I can’t, I’m not so fine.”
That sounds silly, but it’s truly how it works for me.
“I ain’t arguing the point,” he says, giving my hand a squeeze. “Plenty of better things we can do with these mouths.”
Holy hell.
Does he mean more kissing or...
My eyes flick to a noticeable bulge in his pants. He’s as hard as I am sopping wet.
As much as I’d love to find out exactly what his mouth can do—and what mine could do to him—fear climbs up my throat.
I’m suddenly lashed with heat, confusion, desire, and doubt. Too many conflicted emotions to process when we’re stuck up here in the sky.
“I’m not arguing either, just making a point,” I tell him, ignoring the hint.
