Gruff Ass in Love

by Sasha Burke

  With his intense stare lasering in like that, it’s hard for me to grasp coherent words so I focus my efforts on trying to squirm out of his iron grip.

  I may as well be trying to get out of a ridiculously sexy straightjacket.

  The corded mass of solid, stacked muscles surrounding me from neck to knees just grows more impressive—and more unyielding—the harder I wiggle.

  “Did I hurt you when I picked you up?” he demands when I don’t explain my outburst.

  I almost laugh at that. The man wouldn’t hurt a single hair on my head. “Of course not. Now let me down. There’s a cluster of reddish rocks embedded over there I want to show you.”

  He doesn’t put me down. Instead, he all but x-rays me from head to toe with his hard gaze one last time before simply tucking me in closer and scanning the gravel and dirt all around us to see what I’m talking about. “Katelyn, there are red-colored rocks friggin’ everywhere.”

  “Not like those.” I point to a craggy boulder-like formation across the creek that’s actually a massive petrified tree stump and wait for him to carry me over to it before explaining, “This is fossilized wood, basically an old tree that’s been preserved over centuries with sediment deposits.”

  “This is a dead tree stump?” he asks, surprised.

  “Yup. Petrification stops the decay and fills the pores with inorganic minerals over time. In this case it’s silica. You can see different rings of color where agate has replaced the organic material, making this part of the tree essentially more rock than wood now.”

  “Huh,” he says, studying the stunning art-like display of colors, spanning three feet in diameter, at least. “Never would’ve noticed this. That’s actually pretty cool.”

  I smile. My granddad did always find the coolest things. I can’t believe I’m finally seeing it in person; his old photos hardly do it justice. “What’s really neat is how it’s completely silicified, which is rare.” I give the giant beauty a pat. “There’s a lot of history packed in here.”

  “Is this the kind of stuff you’re learning in your master’s degree classes?” Cade looks from me to the petrified wood, sounding genuinely curious. “Land history type things?”

  “Sort of,” I reply absently as I pull up the camera on my phone. “Although I’m not exactly taking classes anymore since I’m in the research phase of my degree.”

  Before I even ask, he throws me back over his shoulder so I can get the perfect aerial shot of the silicified color layers. A definite plus to being hauled about like a sack of feed.

  “So, you’re in your second year?” he continues after I capture one particularly amazing high noon shot from directly above. Gorgeous. I can’t wait to compare it with the one in my album.

  “Fourth,” I answer belatedly, appreciating his circling the stump slowly while I snap away with my camera, again, without me even having to ask him to.

  “Four years? Really?” He doesn’t bother hiding his surprise. “Tough research?”

  “Not particularly.” I shrug, pocketing my phone again. “I’m just taking my time.”

  He chuckles as he drops me back into a cradle hold. “Ah. A professional student. I had a couple MBA buddies that took the six-year route; they definitely got to enjoy it more than I did.”

  “It’s not like that.” It’s really not. I’m not one of those grad students staying in school to avoid their next step in life. At least, not in the same way. My reasons for staying in my program are all right here around us. If I graduate, I’ll have no plausible reason for returning here anymore.

  Then I’ll truly be alone in this world.

  Cade watches me silently as I continue to stare at the spot I’ve memorized from the photo my granddad took way back when. One of the few things I have left of him.

  “So, explain it to me,” he says quietly as he starts walking us back the way we came.

  I never told Cade I was born on this ranch twenty-six years ago, or that my great granddad dug the well that’s still being used by the men when they’re out tending to the horses. All Cade knows about me is that I’m a geology nut who likes to sneak onto his land to study rocks.

  He doesn’t know that I love his ranch as much as he does. Maybe more.

  “I’m not done learning, is all,” I respond finally, truthfully. “I mean look at this place. Rocks are the ultimate historians with a lifetime of stories to tell me, all right here under our feet.”

  A rare smile graces his lips. “You really can’t get enough of it can you? Being out here?”

  I tip my head back against his shoulder and take in a lungful of fresh canyon air, the crisp snap energizing me, grounding me, settling and soothing something deep in my bones, my soul.

  “No,” I breathe. There’s just so much to this land; it’s actually uncanny how similar it is to Cade. All the visibly harsh ridges and hidden layers go hand in hand with his sharp edges and clipped mannerisms, his gruff, elemental way of being. “Don’t think I’ll ever get enough of it.”

  He frowns at my answer. “You hate me for making you leave all the time?”

  Startled by his raw tone, I meet his hooded gaze and tell him softly, “Of course not.”

  Silence stretches between us then, pulling me like gravity right out of my thoughts and back down to earth. That’s when it hits me.

  I’m in Cade’s arms.

  Cade. As in the insanely handsome rancher who looks like one of those classic cowboys made even more stunningly beautiful in HD. The man synonymous with hard work and heat who somehow makes the scent of leather and lassos unbelievably appealing.

  It takes everything I have to keep my five senses from going haywire.

  “If you put me down, I’ll walk,” I say, managing to sound perfectly composed.

  “Yeah, I’m not falling for that again,” he responds dryly.

  I feel a grin sneak up on me. “I run one time and you hold it against me forever.”

  An incredulous cough gusts out of him. “One time?”

  “The other three times didn’t count,” I reason.

  He lifts an amused eyebrow. “You mean the three times you stopped and trudged all the way back for the bag you left behind?”

  “Yes. Those times, you didn’t have to come after me.”

  “I was wondering why you switched from your trusty duffle to this backpack last month.”

  “All the better to run from you in.”

  Shaking his head, he lets out a quiet chuckle.

  I like it when he laughs. Even more so when he laughs at something I’ve said or done. I know people think I’m weird, and I’m sure he does too, but at least he seems more entertained than annoyed by my eccentricities.

  He lifts me up then and perches me onto the perimeter fence separating his property from the rest of the world. I turn and sure enough see he’s managed to find where I’ve parked, yet again.

  How Cade always manages to know where I’ve stashed my ride, I’ll never know. The man can’t possibly have surveillance cameras spanning his fifteen thousand acres, but somehow, he always knows where I’m parked. And per usual, the second he lays eyes on my cute little rebuilt SUV—an awesome workhorse of mismatched parts—he just plain scowls at it, jaw tic in full force.

  I bought the no-frills ‘jeep-adjacent’ SUV from a junkyard salvage genius a few years back, and it’s never once had a single mechanical issue. Regardless, Cade is convinced it’s going to crumble apart at the seams on me. You’d think after he had his own resident car guy basically disassemble the whole thing to check it out bumper to bumper (passed with flying colors, thank you very much), he’d stop worrying so much about me in it, but he hasn’t. Not even a little bit.

  “Your car give you any trouble this week?” he asks curtly, right on schedule.

  “Aside from the tiny engine fire the other day when I sped it across the country and back?” I tease, grinning when that telltale vein starts throbbing at his temple. Even though he knows I’m kidding, he still gives t
he entire vehicle a suspicious onceover as if expecting to find new gaping craters in the bodywork or a fountain of oil spurting out from it.

  I simply sigh and let him do his thing, his stony perusal soon tensing his chiseled features to marble-etched proportions.

  I swear, I watch this happen every week. And every week, I find myself tempted beyond belief to smooth my hands over all those hard edges of his. Don’t ask me why. I can’t explain it. It’s not like he’s the only man I’ve ever met with a jawline that could crack open walnuts, but for some reason, he’s the first one I’ve ever been so inexplicably affected by.

  Somehow, I manage to keep my hands to myself though, shifting them under my butt as I swing my legs over to hop down from the fence. Unfortunately, I mess up my dismount by misjudging the distance to the ground, and crash land ever-so-gracefully onto my knees. Lovely.

  He leaps over the fence in an instant, cursing and crouched next to me like he’s afraid I’ve concussed myself to an early grave. “Sweetheart, look at me. Are you okay? Anything hurt?”

  “Just my pride,” I sigh, getting up and dusting myself off.

  He swipes the gravel from my legs, looking downright livid when he sees the fresh scrapes on my knees. “I can take you to Urgent Care if you think you’ve sprained or broke anything.”

  Gah, this man. “I’m okay, Cade. Really.”

  He doesn’t look convinced, even though I’m being completely honest about my injuries being barely worth a thought. Especially given more pressing things to focus on at the moment.

  Like how his face is currently level with the front of my shorts.

  I try not to react to the fact that his rugged cheek just nudged me in an area that hasn’t had outside contact in a very long while. But, my uber sensitive nipples apparently don’t get the memo.

  And judging by the quiet curse he just let fly, this new development hasn’t exactly escaped his attention.

  3

  | Cade |

  Goddamnit, if she’s trying to see if she can telekinetically bust my zipper open right here in front of her, those hard little nipples are a fucking spectacular way to get me halfway there.

  It’s bad enough the weather’s been warming up lately, meaning I can’t rely on her covering up that distractingly curvy little body of hers with jeans and loose jackets anymore. But in those tattered khaki shorts, currently displaying a mile or two of shapely legs, and that well-worn t-shirt hugging the bounty of other soft curves she possesses, the woman is straight-up sex on a stick.

  Not that she seems to care about that indisputable reality one way or the other. For as long as I’ve known her, she’s never once made a fuss over her appearance. It’s obvious that she dresses for comfort over anything else. Well, comfort and trespassing efficacy, of course. Beyond that, she just is who she is, and frankly, that’s the sexiest thing about her, hands-down.

  Though it takes some extreme digging and soul-deep testosterone suppressing, I manage to keep my eyes fixed above her neck as I rise to my feet.

  I know, talk about an iron will. It’s like passing the seven wonders of the world without at least stopping to admire their grandeur. It’s almost superhuman of me.

  So really, given the impressive restraint I’m already showing, who can fault me for grazing a thumb over her petal soft cheek to feel the pretty blush she can’t seem to contain?

  I wonder then if she’s got a scrawny little college dude at home who gets the right to touch her like this whenever he wants. Judging by her lip-biting reaction to me, I’m guessing if such an asshole does exist, he’s doing it all wrong.

  And if I don’t stop thinking with my dick, soon I’ll be volunteering to show her just how right it’d be with me and only me.

  What the hell is it about this woman that’s making me so crazy?

  Reluctantly, I pull my hand back, and attempt to drag my gaze away from her. But before I do, I see something that twists my guts.

  An angry, blood-crusted gash near her collar bone.

  I don’t wait for permission before pulling back the loose collar of her shirt to see the extent of the injury. The cut is a few inches long at least. I can’t tell how deep it is because it’s smudged with mud and God knows what else. If she gets an infection from traipsing around out here, I’ll never forgive myself. “How’d you get this?” I demand.

  She looks down at the wound as if surprised it’s still there. “The west fence and I had a slight disagreement.”

  “This was from a barbed wire?” I all but bellow. “You up to date with your tetanus shot?”

  “My last one was a few years ago so I’m fine. Seriously, it’s no big deal, Cade. I’ll clean the cut when I get home and throw a Band-Aid on it.”

  Not good enough.

  I grab her hand and lead her to a nearby outhouse. The previous owner had a bunch of ‘em put in around the property when he ran the place as a wild mustang tourist venue. Rather than tear them all down when I did away with the offensive business, I just kept them for my ranch hands and made sure to stock each with first aid kits and other emergency necessities.

  She follows me wordlessly, all the while looking at me like I’m a ticking time bomb.

  I stop abruptly. “Are you afraid of me? Would you rather one of my guys clean out that wound instead? I know you’ve become friends with some of them.”

  I’m well aware that every word I just uttered came out stormier and surlier than the last. So, sue me. The thought of handing her over to someone else and watching them take care of her is pissing me off for some reason. But I’ll do it, if that’s what she really wants.

  She stares at me in disbelief. “Of course, I’m not afraid of you. Why would you even think something like that?”

  “You look scared as shit right now.”

  The look on her face I’d registered as fear is back again, but now that her bloody wound isn’t fresh on my mind, I realize the expression is more watchful than wary.

  “I thought you were going to lecture me,” she tells me slowly, hesitantly, as if reluctant to give me any ideas.

  She should’ve trusted her instincts.

  Mollified that she’s not afraid of me, I launch into an epic lecture that could peel paint off wood as I resume our hasty trek over to the old outhouse.

  All the while, I’m silently kicking my own ass as well for not Katelyn-proofing my ranch better. With the section she got hurt in being so far off the beaten path, I never updated the older fencing separating my property lines from the rest of the mountain and forestlands. Partly because I hadn’t wanted to disrupt the wildlife, but also because I didn’t want my ranch getting on anyone’s nosy radar. The last thing I wanted was any questions being raised over my financial situation.

  Most folks don’t know that it’s possible to ask to be kept off the various ‘top richest people’ lists. You can, and I do. Yes, anyone can find the identity of the five hundred plus billionaires in the America by doing a search online, but unless you’re stalking that info, my name doesn’t usually get attached to my money. And out here, that’s even more the case than it was back in the city. All my neighbors and workers know is that I bought a foreclosed tourist attraction and turned it into a working ranch off-limits to the public. Period. And that’s exactly the way I like things.

  That said, right now, I don’t care how much it costs, or what kinds of questions it raises, I’m getting rid of every last fucking inch of barbed wire on my property. ASAP.

  I swing open the door of the outhouse and reach for the first aid kit. When she steps around me to sit down on the wooden toilet seat, I drag her back to me and stare down at her like she’s lost her friggin’ mind. I’m not letting that beautiful ass of hers anywhere near one of those.

  Instead, I lead her back outside and sit her down on a patch of grass in the shade. “Do you feel any pain in your muscles around the cut?” I ask. When she shakes her head, I open up an alcohol pad and give her a sympathetic grimace in advance. “This is gonna stin
g.”

  She tilts her head to give me better access to her cut and I can’t help but notice again how crazy beautiful this woman is. As feisty and scrappy as she’s proven herself to be, so much about Katelyn is also soft and dainty. Even coated in dirt and dust, she’s the prettiest little thing.

  After wiping away all the dried blood and making sure the wound is as clean as I can get it, I lean in and blow on it gently.

  I can tell right away that the next little shiver racking her tiny frame is different from the ones she’s been wincing through before this. But for my sanity’s sake, I avoid shifting my eyes back up to her berry-like nipples to prove myself right. Which means I’ve got to decide between staring at her bare legs parted just inches from my mouth or gazing into those soft brown eyes.

  Hell, there’s just no safe place to look when it comes to her.

  Ruthlessly, I shove down the gripping need I suddenly feel to kiss her injuries…just as I literally shove aside the equally potent need (that’s currently making its presence known under my belt buckle) to do more than just kiss her injuries.

  Soon, I notice the stretch of her thin shirt molding more and more to her full breasts the choppier her breathing gets. And though I like knowing she’s as affected as I am right now, I only allow myself to endure the sight for a couple more seconds before I back off to go grab her some bandages. With the way I’m feeling at the moment, I don’t trust my hands anywhere near her for at least a full minute.

  “Thank you,” she says softly when I return to finish spreading on the antibiotic ointment and taping some sterile gauze over the cut.

  “Bottom line, Katelyn, you’ve got to start taking your safety more seriously,” I scold her, speaking to her harsher than I ever have before. This time, it’s a cut. Next time, it could be a concussion from a mustang kick. Or worse. “There has to be safer places for you to look for rocks. Aren’t there parks near the university? Anywhere with lots of people around in case you get hurt?”

  She seems downright bewildered by my level of concern. “Cade, it’s just a little scrape. It’s no big deal. Believe me, I’ve gotten injured a whole lot worse in the past.”