The Polo Prince (Foxworth Stud Ranch Book 4)

by Mia Madison

  He grinned again, looking pleased at his new friend and I have to admit I was too. He wasn't like the others, all the cowboys that did nothing for me in the lust department, there was a deeper side to him. And the next night he came in looking like he'd scrubbed up. The faded black marks ever present on his skin all the way up to his huge taut biceps, like there wasn't soap strong enough to deal with them, were gone. Only a light layer of pink remained where he'd rubbed his skin almost raw.

  Knowing the male species so well, not intimately, just well, I ought to know what makes Quint tick. But even now he's an epic mystery.

  “You ever had your heart broken, Edie?” he looked up as I refilled his rye and asked me out of the blue.

  “Now and then,” I replied with my typical bartender non-committal nonchalance. I figured he wanted to tell me about his heartache.

  “You look like a girl trying to outrun the hurt,” he said and made me startle inside with his perception.

  Suddenly I found myself telling him about Chad back in my home town.

  “I thought it was broken at the time but there's a funny thing about that. In time you wonder why you ever wasted a single moment fretting over a jerk that didn't deserve even a rattler's attention.”

  “It makes for a simpler life to live alone,” he said in that husky low voice.

  “What about passion?”

  “I have my passion.”

  It seemed strange that a man could find obsession in hammering out molten steel on an anvil, but when Quint talks about it I can see the fire reflected in his eyes and soon it transposed to me. I began to feel burning all across my skin like a fire had ignited. I love my bar because it's mine. It's independence and my security and all mine. I don't need any man telling me what I can or cannot do. But I couldn't say McDools is my passion.

  That night, we sat there 'til after closing. While Quint listened, I couldn't help but notice his huge thighs flexing on the stool that almost too small to hold his solid bulk. But mostly I noted how attentive he was. Like he actually wanted to know my story and wasn't just making sawdust small talk.

  “Chad was a dealer,” I told him. “Small time, drugs and guns. We started a bar together in downtown Amarillo and I was doing most of the work while he played at being host. You know, handing out free drinks to his 'clients'. I guess the limelight got more than he could handle with decency. I came back early from visiting my aunt, she raised me after my mom died, and caught him in our bed with the two waitresses.”

  “Douchebag. What kind of ass would do that to a woman like you?”

  “One that needed to be in control to feel like a man. He told me I emasculated him, running the business and treating him like the help.”

  “So you moved down here with the most masculine men in fifty states.”

  “All you guys from Foxworth are the real deal though. You could all pose for macho man magazine ads, not one of you is a fake like Chad.”

  “I'm not sure that's a compliment,” Quint said, a twinkle gathering in his eye.

  “It is, believe me.” I assured him. “There's nothing worse than fake macho.”

  “You don't miss having girlfriends.”

  “I don't miss anything.”

  Later I realize I told my friend the first lie. He went to his truck to head home and I locked up all the doors and windows. Once everything was double secure, I climbed the stairs to my small apartment over the bar and was already missing his company.

  Chapter 3

  Edie

  I'm late getting my ass outta bed to clean and stock the bar, ready to do it all over again. Usually I fall straight to sleep after being on my feet all day and smiling even when I feel like snarling. Last night though I lay flat on my back staring at the ceiling for the longest time. The lining of my skin felt like it was sparkling. The tingles moved from this part to that but ultimately daggered back to the one sensitive point between my thighs.

  My fingers ran along my hip to slide into my slick folds. I stroked along the length and rubbed small circles round and round the point, picking up speed and pressure until the climax shivered through me. What a let down. You'd think that after so long it would have been a nuclear detonation, not the wimp-out release that left me more ramped up than before.

  Now I've got nowhere left to go for relief and had to lie there, staring into the darkness, thinking how much I need a man. I need the heat of his body smothering me, the faint musky sweat of his aroma moving up my nostrils to fill my brain with lusty hunger. I need his hands moving all over me, touching each part, pinching and pulling in the exact right place.

  And at last, I need his fingers, not mine, parting my soaked lips and finding my hollow entrance with his round head. What I'm craving is that moment of being spread open, invasive and delicious as he slides through the taut muscle into my warm depths. Nothing can give me all of that except a real live man.

  As I wipe dry the glasses coming out of the washer, I'm groggy with lack of sleep and repressed needs. I rub more ferociously as though I can erase all the hunger out of me by taking it out on a beer glass.

  “God, I need to get laid,” I groan. “I ignored it too long and now it's agony.”

  I put some loud music on the stereo system, something to blast away the lust pressing at my edges and dance around the length of the bar while I dry.

  By gyrating my hips with all my energy, I hope to get rid of the sensations taking over my body without my permission. My body may be making its demands felt again but I'm not ready.

  “Chad, you fucker, you really laid a number on me,” I say to no one, my bar nice and empty right now.

  Sometimes I think I may never be ready to let another man back into my life after what he put me through. I don't even come close, the walls are so high. And I'm fine with that, except when my clit starts throbbing with need that I can't take care of.

  I turn around and a daggering flare flies up my core straight to my core.

  “Ohmigod,” I gasp, my lungs instantly constricted.

  “Sorry, didn't mean to give you a fright,” the tall guy with dark shades says with a grin.

  A cocky grin. Like he knows he's a hunk and ripped and wearing an expensive suit. That suit immediately marks him out as a stranger, even if I hadn't instantly known he wasn't from around here. He's staring straight at my chest, if I'm not mistaken. It's hard to tell with the shades but the angle of his head and my gut inform me. That gut that's never wrong when it comes to reading a man.

  As he comes sauntering across the saw-dusted floor in shoes that look like he just stepped down from the shoeshine, I realize I'm palming the tops of my breasts. They're still heaving up and down, with the fright of discovering a stranger standing at my door and watching my butt wriggle.

  “We aren't open yet,” I snap.

  I don't want to be rude but this guy is giving me a bit too hard of an eyefuck to warrant my politeness.

  Anyway the suit, the shoes, the shades all indicate no way is he a potential customer for my semi dive bar.

  “I apologize again for making you jump,” he says in a voice that's not far off slick but with a strange foreign accent I can't place. “A beautiful woman like you should always be calm and collected.”

  “I am calm and collected,” I inform him. “Clearly you aren't here for a brew, so what can I do for you?”

  “I was just wondering whether you could tell me if there's somewhere round here I could get my horse re-shod?”

  I burst out laughing at that. A genuine belly laugh that releases the tension. Something I haven't had in a while also.

  “Your horse?” I guffaw. “Sorry, it's just that you are the furthest thing from a saddle man I've ever seen.”

  It's a little hard to tell what's going on inside him because of the shades and I guess that's the point. He looks slightly confused, then a whole lot irritated before he throws me another massive grin.

  “Okay, busted,” his hands go up in the air like I'm about to shoot. “
What's a guy gotta do to make the acquaintance of the best looking girl he's seen in years?”

  “Usually I only accept introductions from my maiden aunt,” I quip right back.

  What am I doing? I don't flirt. I haven't flirted since Chad. That just came out of my mouth before I could stop it.

  “Well if she can take a break from her tatting, wheel her out right now.”

  The guy takes a stool, Quint's stool, and this banter goes on a short while until he needs to take a call.

  “Right, yeah, okay, right now,” is the extent of the conversation I'm trying not to listen to.

  He takes my hand, still holding the dry towel, across the bar and brings it to his lips, brushing lightly across the tips.

  “To be continued,” he says, giving me an intense stare with the two dark shades.

  Then he's gone. The weirdest meeting I've had in a long time. We don't get too many tourists here unless the rodeo's coming through, then of course it's packed to the rafters.

  Later that night, when Quint comes in I end up divulging way more secrets than I've ever told anyone.

  “You ever had your heart broken, Edie?” he asks like he can see exactly what I'm struggling with.

  And the way he says my name, it's almost tender. Coming from his huge body, his arms are so pumped they strain to bend at the elbow as they rest on my bar, teaming with unspent power.

  “Just once but that was enough,” I tell him, feeling like I could tell Quint everything about me and he'd listen to all of it. I almost tell him about the odd stranger in the bar today but then he tells me about his childhood and I come close to tears.

  Later, lying in bed at last, all I can think of is the difference between the man in the suit, who would be considered a desirable man by most women I know, and Quint the solitary blacksmith. I know if I ever had my chance, which one I'd take into my bed without a second thought. The problem is it's never going to happen. Quint and I are friends and he's more than a decade older than me. He must think I'm way too young for a man that experienced so there's no way I'm going to get my release with him.

  Chapter 4

  Quint

  I'm standing at my forge earlier than ever. Most mornings I like to get the fire stoked up and start heating the iron, ready to bend it out across the anvil. But today I'm earlier than usual after a rough night throwing myself around and across the bed in fits and starts.

  Sometime when the moon was still high, I let out a roar of frustration and climbed out of bed to take a cold shower. I stood under the water, cold as I could stand and thought how Shea was right. I am turning wolfish. Listening to more of Edie's story the night before, has me spitting nails every time it comes back into my mind.

  And that's occurring way too many times. Every one of them, my fingers curl into tight balls of pure fury and I wish that guy, Chad, the fucker, lived here in this town so I could go over there and stick my fist in his smug asshole face.

  “Can you imagine that I built an entire business and home with someone I didn't know. Who turned out to be a man that could be such a user. I feel so stupid,” Edie had said, dropping her voice for that last bit so it fell on my ears alone.

  Like we were sharing the secret between us, of how she felt. The obvious hurt in her lovely face made rage go flying through my gut like never before. I don't do feelings. I never know what to say when people are feeling shit, not since my mother went into a strange emotional state when my father was killed by a dustcart.

  “I was eight years old,” suddenly I'm telling this young woman my story, when I've never told another living soul since the day it happened. “He went out to work early, was walking across the street from the parking lot and the thing blind-sided him. Just like that he was gone, and so was she. My mom retreated into a world of her own without me and nothing I could do could make it better.”

  “I'm so sorry for you, Quint,” she said, her face saddening even more, so I felt bad for bringing that down on her.

  She didn't need more sorrow in her life. She was so young and so kind, with everything to live for. “I wish I could go back in time and give little eight year old you a hug.”

  Jeezus, when she said that, my blood gushed hot in my veins. It was on the tip of my tongue to say she could get the twenty, make that thirty, year rain check. I don't do smarmy asshat talk like that but fuck, the idea of her lush full breasts pressing into my chest as she wrapped her arms around my bulk was a torment I could hardly stand.

  “Not an issue,” I said, so gruffly she was taken aback.

  Then all I wanted to do was pull her in my arms and crush her to me. Take every pain out of her and protect her from every shock. Forever. Geez, I don't do shit like that. I keep myself apart from the world and do my work. That's the best way to keep it together.

  “You take it easy, Edie,” I said, leaping up from my stool to hightail it outta there.

  “See you tomorrow, Quint?” she called out across the barroom, more a plea than a question or statement.

  I gave her a harrumph in return and left it at that.

  I worked late last night, it was almost midnight when I got done so I didn't head down to McDools for the first time in a while. That was the plan. From the moment I opened my eyes Edie was in my head and I couldn't get her out. It was insane, the pounding in every cell, the desire to see her face and hear her voice. Edie's the exact level of feminine for a woman, not all girly fluttery, but so kind and so smart and so, dare I even think that, sexy hot.

  Clearly I'm a fucking dog on the prowl and just need to stay away from her until this searing heat in my veins dies back down.

  I work through the evening again. Taking the heavy wood sledgehammer to bring it slamming down on the metal that refuses to bend to me. In past times a blacksmith had a man known as a striker to wield the sledgehammer for him, while he checked he metal for the exact point on which to make the strike. But I don't deal with assistants. And today the intricacy of the work is forgotten. I relish lifting the massive hammer over my head, feeling like a Viking taking down an enemy as he carouses through a tribe of pagans.

  I work up a ferocious sweat, the rivulets pouring down my back and face, which is also blackened from soot. I eel it tautening my pores on my cheeks. Eventually, after hours of hammering and heating, hammering and heating, I'm spent. I've worked off all the insane emotion running around my limbs and I can breathe again. I douse the fire and head out of the workshop, as usual passing the guys still loitering around the firepit, unwilling to get to their solo beds.

  “Hey Quint, you missed some action down at McDools earlier,” Rafe calls me over.

  “Yeah what was that?” I throw back over my shoulder, expecting to hear one of Rafe's tales about almost getting some girl out into the back of his truck.

  “Someone broke into the bar late last night.”

  That halts my stride. I whirl back, my veins stretching and heart beating out a rhythm fit to bust a fucking blood vessel.

  “Is she okay?” I bark. “Edie, is she okay?”

  “Yeah, she's not hurt. They just broke the windows, nothing taken. Must have been kids.”

  I'm already across the gravel heading to the truck.

  “Hey, where you going this hour?” Rafe shouts. “It's after midnight, McDools is closed.”

  I'm already flooring the gas down the endless long drive leading off the ranch. If one fucking hair on her head is so much as out of place, I won't sleep again until I find the fucker that did it.

  Yeah it's insane. We're friends, only friends. But friends take care of each other and that's what I'm doing for Edie. She's got no one else looking out for her. It seems like it takes hours to reach the bar, all in darkness and locked up. Some wooden planks have been nailed across the broken window in front but I could tear those down with my bare hands.

  “Edie, open up,” I gruff out, hammering on the door fit to bust it down with my fists. “It's me, Quint.”

  When a light eventually goes on behi
nd the bar, I realize I woke her up and pulled her out of her bed. I know this because she's tousled and her lips are puffed a little. Plus, the back-lighting as she walks across the barroom to the door renders her little nightshirt completely transparent. As I stand there with blood burning at my veins, my heart hammering harder than my forge work, my fists bruised from banging on the door, I get the incredible sight of her curvy body through the fabric.

  When she turns the key and tugs the door open, saying, “Quint, what happened?” I have to face her with the biggest bulge in my pants of my entire life. So freaking rock hard and pressing at my denim for release, I almost cross both palms in front so she doesn't get to see what a filthy bastard she chose to be her friend.

  Chapter 5

  Edie

  After the break-in, I'm not at all afraid until I get to the bottom of the stairs and see the huge hulk of a man silhouetted in the glass. I'm a tough little girl and can swing a baseball bat at a man's head like a slugger, but the massive shadow at my door is terrifying. Like some huge monstrous beast. The fists again pound at the wood, rattling the glass in its frame and making my heart rattle even harder against my ribs.

  “Edie, open up. It's Quint.”

  I throw back the bolts and tear the door open on its hinges.

  “Quint, what the hell are you doing here in the middle of the night?” I snap, tired and suddenly irritated that my sorely needed shut eye is ruined again.

  Before I gather myself, I'm crashing up against the rock hard wall of his chest and two iron bands encircle me. His arms are so strong, they squeeze me into him like being constricted by a python.

  Quint hugs me tight like he'll never let me go. My instant reaction to push him off me is sharply curtailed by the rising sensation suffusing every cell. I don't know what it is, so hard to put a name to it. The closest thing I can find is… bliss.

  Sappy, I know.