The Polo Prince (Foxworth Stud Ranch Book 4)

by Mia Madison

  Without my boots on, my cheek only comes up to the hard round curve of Quint's blistering pectoral muscle. I rest there for a moment, inhaling the aroma of sweat and smoke and iron. I ought to be grossed out by the filth covering his skin but it's strangely enticing. I breathe in again and set off an array of twitches between my thighs, he smells so damn good.

  We stand there at the door, pressed together, every inch of our skin lining the other from chin to thigh. I can feel the heavy thud of Quint's heart ricocheting around my own body and he's panting for breath almost as fast as I am. Then there's a shift against my hip, wait, is that his -? If so it's absolutely enormous.

  Quint suddenly releases me and steps back. His hands fly to grasp my upper arms, holding me at a distance but his eyes delve into mine so deeply, another pulsation starts up in my clit.

  “Are you okay?” he demands.

  I open my mouth to inform him I'm fine and he's being an over-protective idiot but I can't speak for some reason. I nod my head and wonder why goosebumps are piling up along my arms.

  “Edie, are you sure?” His fingers grip me harder and he's almost shaking me. “Are you hurt? Answer me.”

  I nod my head yes and shake my head no, trying for the life of me to force some words out so he doesn't think I'm a just a frightened little girl. I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself, thank you very much. Didn't I bash nails into boards criss-crossing the broken window without the help of any man? Except I have to admit it's very nice having him care about me with such an irrefutable force. Dude looks half deranged with worry.

  We stand there at the door in the total night silence, not even a lone truck rolls down Main Street, or ass I like to call it, Only Street. Quint's gaze is bolted onto mine with a whole set of queries other than my well-being. I feel all his demands pouring out from his pitch black pupils and he looks like something feral emerging from the dark night. A wild man.

  A flicker passes across the pupils and transmits to me without a word. Where he's gripping my upper arms, the flat pads of both his thumbs are pushed into the sides of my breasts. It's like we both realize the fact at the same time and the intimacy rolls through us. Neither of us knows what to do. If he suddenly tears his hands away it will be like an admittance we'll have to face. So we stand rooted on the threshold, frozen in terror worse than any we might feel regarding intruders.

  An image goes flittering through my mind of one huge thumb stretching out and hooking under my right breast. With the strength in that one digit he shoves up the weight of my flesh at the same time he tips his head down, opens his sensuous full lips and tugs my nipple into his mouth right through the fabric of my nightgown.

  Oh holy fuck, suddenly I'm aware of how flimsy the thin material is. How my nipples are prodding out through the cotton, eager for that millisecond vision to become a reality.

  I'm hitching for air worse than ever now. Quint's holding me firm, restrained in his grip so I can't move an inch and I'm starting to pant. I can't get control over my breath, or the pleasure demands poking at my hard little points. I gaze up wild-eyed at Quint, willing him to put me out of my misery. If he just brings his mouth down over mine, I can close my eyes and surrender into this desire swirling around every limb.

  I'm spellbound to him. If he picked me up and threw me over his shoulder, I wouldn't utter much more than a squeak. I certainly wouldn't resist. The thought of him kicking the door of the bar shut with the heel of his boot and carrying me up the stairs with his arm binding the back of my thighs while the other rested across my ass cheeks, it's all too much to tolerate. Especially when I'm standing here barely covered, held immovable by a half wild man smeared with black marks across his face and chest like a camouflaged warrior in the undergrowth.

  I'm sure he's going to kiss me. I can feel the impetus forcing itself against his skin, pressuring him into claiming my mouth. Without my permission, my lips part the tiniest bit in preparation for what's coming. My eyelids drop a little, I arch toward him very slightly, the heat pouring from his chest.

  And then the spell snaps apart.

  “I'm glad you're okay then,” he grits out through taut lips.

  The same lips I need covering mine. But he presses me further back as though standing me up on my own legs and releases me. His eyes abandon mine, never to return. It's as though he saw something undesirable in me, or recalled the age difference gaping between us and can't bear to look at me now.

  I reach for the door handle to support me. He must have detected that pulsating lust in me and been turned off. Now he seems too embarrassed to know how to deal with me, how to let me down without hurting me. He's decided to press the little girl back into the friend zone.

  “Yeah fine,” I snap, cold suddenly. “Thanks for dropping by to check on me.”

  I close the door on him and he waits there on the other side, like he's thinking about knocking again, to check one more thing. Or maybe about kicking it down and devouring me. Then he turns and walks back down the two wooden steps to the street and gets in his truck.

  I watch him go from the shadows just behind the door, every cell in me wishing and praying for the gods to make him decide to come back. To take me exactly as I just fantasized, including the kicking the door in part. He has to feel this too.

  A girl doesn't have these kind of fantasies in a vacuum. I saw it perfectly reflected in his almost deranged eyes, the images that were flickering across his mind. I could feel it in his hot breath falling on my upper lip. I could even smell it in the feral scent coming off his sweat soaked skin.

  He drives off at a clip and feeling completely hollow, I make sure the bolts are in place before heading back to my bed alone.

  Chapter 6

  Quint

  I'm here at the forge before sun-up this time. It's still pitch black night when I stoke the fire and build it to the roaring heat I require. The temperature feels barely any different on my skin than the blood tearing around my veins. Every fucking capillary feels singed with excess heat pouring through me.

  What the fuck was I doing pulling Edie into my embrace like that? Like she's mine. Like I possess her and have the right to crush her body into me and squeeze her until her skin merges to mine. As though it could have melted straight onto me like plastic onto rock.

  The second I did it I knew it was wrong. It happened before I even realized and once she was there, her sweet and soft body pressing against my ridges, I almost shoved her back like a hot coal. But I didn't because the surge of intense desire that whipped through me was the sweetest thing I'd ever known. All I wanted was to squeeze her tighter and keep her close to me so I could inhale her powdery aroma and briefly imagine all the things I'd like to do to her.

  It was so wrong. She's way too young for me and I was out of line taking advantage of her friendship like that. But I would have given everything I own to hold her there a minute more.

  I bend forward, getting up close with the flames, feeling the dangerous heat licking at my cheeks as I tap out the metal bar into the shape I want.

  “It was just a friendly hug,” I say to the hammer. “Yeah, like fuck it was. You can tell yourself and the inanimate hunk of metal that wont answer back, but you know the truth. You want her.”

  “Quint, who are you talking to?”

  Startled, I look up and see Chloe standing there in her skintight jeans and high heeled boots.

  “No one,” I grunt. I don't like women in the forge. And especially not the boss man's daughter, wrinkling up her nose at the heat and dirt.

  “I get it, you talk to the fire for inspiration.”

  “Yeah, sometimes.”

  “I know about you creative types.

  “' Can I do for you?”

  “I need you to make me some iron bands,” she says, ever the demanding little princess. “I'm gifting Shea and Dallyce a wooden outdoor bath tub for their wedding. Don't you think that's romantic?”

  “I guess,” I grunt. What would I know about romance?r />
  “So I need you to make the iron circles to strapping the slats in place.”

  “Fine.”

  I could get into all sorts of discussion about the dimensions, how she's planning on waterproofing the thing, how they'll fill the tub being as this isn't 1860 and I can't imagine little Dallyce hauling hot water to fill the tub for her man. I don't however because I need to finish this task.

  I told myself I wasn't stepping foot in McDools ever again but I've already broken that promise. All I can think of is finishing the bars for Edie's windows and getting them to her. It's only been six hours since I left her and I've thought of nothing else. I'm already burning up with need to see her again.

  Chloe slaps a drawing on the worktable and turns on her heel to storm off, leaving me alone to get back to the design I'm working on. I haven't done ornate work like this since I left New York. I hope she likes it.

  Once the metal has conceded to my will and is exactly how I want, I plunge the red hot spikes into the cold water bath. I lean in to relish the hot steam rising from the water with an angry hiss. Then before they're even completely cooled, I toss the bars into the back of my truck and head into town without a word to anyone about where I'm going.

  I park outside the bar and notice the slick Caddy beside my dusty truck. Don't see cars like that around here much. Must be some big ranch owner is here, although what he might be doing in this no-horse town is beyond me.

  I heft the heavy bars out of the flatbed and toe the door to McDools open. My heart is doing belly rolls with the prospect of seeing Edie at her place behind the bar, wiping a pristine white cloth around the rim of a glass.

  She's there just like I imagined and her head is thrown back, laughing.

  Laughing at the dude sitting across the bar from her. In my seat.

  Blood surges up against my skin lining, rage pushing my edges. What the fuck am I getting beat up about? That isn't my stool. I don't own it. I don't own anything. And least of all Edie. Just because I occupy the same seat, second from end, right by the glass washer machine so she stands there in front of me to take them out, bending forward like she is now giving the guy a peek at her luscious cleavage, that doesn't mean I own her.

  My blood is fucking boiling up and I almost turn to leave, then Edie's gaze flicks to the door and her smile falters.

  “Oh, hi Quint,” she says casually. “What are you doing here?”

  What am I doing here? What the fuck is he doing here I'd like to know. It's all I can do to refrain from asking the fucker direct. And advising him to stop gazing at her gorgeous chest like that if he doesn't care to feel my fist in his mouth.

  He's no cowboy but he's not a wimp either. He's a big dude and well packed under the tight plaid shirt. Which I notice has store creases still lining the back, right out of the packaging. And the jeans are neatly pressed, the boots are without a scuff or single speck of grit. I bet I'd see the fucking price sticker on the sole if I turned this bastard up side down which I'm close to doing. This asshat ain't any cowboy rancher and I'm sure he ain't even from around here. His entire aura reads up north city boy and that gets my hackles up further.

  “I brought you some window railings,” I grunt, not looking at her.

  I'm still pissed at how she was laughing at something the stranger had just said before I walked in.

  “Protect you from getting broke into again.”

  “Wow, those are the most beautiful window bars I've ever seen,” she purrs. “Like artwork. Did you make those for a client?”

  “I made them for you,” I grunt and the stranger's interest picks up.

  “I was only burgled night before last,” she says. “You must have been up all night working on them.”

  “Yeah,” I husk at her.

  My eyes are fixed on the dude and the smug satisfied grin he's tossing out to nowhere in particular. For some reason I want to smash it right off his stupid smooth mouth.

  Then I notice a sticking plaster on his hand.

  “Bad wound?” I ask nodding my head at his hand on the bar.

  “Just from shaving. I dropped the razor and it slashed me.”

  The guy has an accent I don't care for. One that brings back bad memories. We do a little eyeball war then the dude gets nervous and reaches for his whiskey. With his right hand. Which means he shaves with his right too and couldn't have dropped the razor as well as had it fall on his hand and cut him. Does Edie know she's all flirty with the guy that broke into her home?

  For the first time in my life I know what it is to feel murderous.

  Chapter 7

  Edie

  “Thank you so much for the rails. They're absolutely amazing, too lovely to be wasted on barring my windows.”

  Quint throws me a grunt without looking my way.

  “I ought to hang them on my walls except then my apartment would look even more miserable by comparison.”

  I'm rambling I know. Both men are looking at me with such intense stares all my insides are getting in a jumble. So my mouth keeps running on before my head catches up.

  “I'll feel much safer in my bed tonight.”

  Uh-unh, bad word choice. Now new shirt guy is grinning at me with that look. That one that signifies he's considering what my security needs look like and how he's ready to fill them.

  “You need a man in your bed at night to feel safe,” he says and although he's been hitting on me, I'm absolutely certain he's saying it to get Quint riled up and it's working. “A beautiful girl like you shouldn't have to manage all this alone.”

  Quint's jaw sets rigid and his broad fingers turn white from loss of circulation as he clenches the bars he's holding, like he's about to lift them over his head and slam them down on the stranger's head.

  “She isn't alone,” he says, his voice loaded with so much feral threat his fangs should be bared. “She has me.”

  This is insane because Quint has never acted like this toward with me. This sudden bizarre possessiveness like he's marked out territory around me is crazy. Just when it seems like I might finally break out of a dry spell that's lasted longer than prohibition. I know he's concerned for my safety but the way he's acting with the new dude is completely out of character for him.

  My solid blacksmith is usually just that, insular and reserved, looking like a beast but with a heart the size of Kansas. He must have been up all night making the security railings for my windows and they aren't just straight prison cell bars like you usually see covering windows. These are a work of art, with intricate patterns and shapes that draw you in.

  New Shirt isn't backing down. It's like he's poking Quint with a stick, itching for him to lose control. If I didn't know better, I'd say these two men knew each other somehow. Although that's impossible. Shirt's sitting on the stool Quint usually takes, while Quint is across the room by the door, holding the massive sets of bars like they weigh no more than a couple of cartons of milk. They're separated but they may as well be circling each other like wrestlers, arms flexed out from their sides, warily sizing up the other getting ready to pounce.

  “That's some fine craftsmanship there.” Even the stranger notices. “You could be making a whole lot of money banging out bars like that up in Manhattan.”

  Quint becomes even more enraged by that statement. You'd have thought the stranger was making a threat rather than a compliment from the way Quint stiffens and turns red with the pressure building in his limbs. He looks like he's about to go rogue all over the guy.

  “Yeah? I don't think I'd like the characters I'd have to do business with up there in the big city,” he snarls through gritted teeth.

  “I know some people might be real interested in work like that,” New Shirt continues.

  “That so? Send them right to me,” Quint says without a break. “I can deal with them.”

  Their whole conversation seems loaded with meaning.

  “I just might do that,” New Shirt says as he gets up and throws a twenty down for his drink.
/>
  He walks across the wood floor, his new boots clacking like they're three sizes too large. He's headed directly toward Quint and I'm certain he's going to smash right into him with a body check. I can't see New Shirt's face but Quint is looking at him with a hard man stare-down. He's not moving one inch out of his way. At the last second New Shirt shifts, skirts around him and instead, kicks the door open with his toe.

  “What the fuck was that?” I almost yell at Quint when the dude's left.

  “Nothing,” he bites out.

  “Could you get any more territorial? I can almost smell the stink of piss where you two were competing.”

  “I said it was nothing, Edie. Leave it alone.”

  I know well enough to drop it but something about this smells stronger than the pissing contest. Quint is silent as he takes down my haphazard re-boarding of the broken window and installs the stunning rails he's made especially for me. His rage goes into the metal as he hammers in the huge bolts. I stand behind him on the porch, holding the huge crafted nails in my palm, watching mesmerized as his back muscle flexes and bulges out with every slam.

  He takes off right after, declining a beer to cool the sweat he's built up that's glistening all over his soot streaked biceps.

  “Gotta bathtub to build,” he says as an excuse to leave.

  But he doesn't come back later. I stand at my place in back of the bar and my eyes bat to the door every time it swings open with a screech on the hinges. It's never Quint. He doesn't show all night so I'm left wondering what the hell is up.

  When I'm back in my lonely bed that started the trouble, I again stare up at the ceiling with frustration pressing at my insides. Joking around earlier with the new guy, I could kind of imagine a hook up. Just for fun, no strings, seeing as he's only passing through. He told me that much but we were interrupted by my fearsome savior before I could get anymore information, like his name or what he's doing in this out of the way town.

  He'd be the perfect opportunity to relieve this throbbing ache that's settled between my thighs recently and refuses to leave. Well not the perfect one, but I can't have that. Just when I think I'm about to finally lose the repression I've built into my body because of Chad's action, now I'm even more uptight than before.