by Laura Moore
“But first things first,” he continued. “Let’s have Brocco meet you. It’s just like with the lambs, Tess. You want Brocco to learn your scent and get a good look at you. Come stand a bit to the side of his head. A horse’s eyes are set wide, so it’s easier for him to see you when you stand here.” He drew her toward the gelding and stepped behind her, resting his hands on her hips in a show of support—and because he simply wanted to touch her.
As Tess let Brocco blow a warm gust of air over the back of her hand, Ward rattled off some information for her to store away in that clever brain. “Brocco was born on the ranch. He was a big bruiser even as a colt, so better suited as a pleasure horse than for cow work. He’s eighteen, so by now he knows the trails backward and forward. He’s a good guy—loves his job as a trail horse. You can trust him. How about climbing into the saddle?”
Her shoulders rose as she drew a breath. “Sure, why not? God, I can’t even see over his back.” She was craning her neck.
“Which makes the view that much better. You’re going to be surprised by how much you enjoy this.”
“Can I get that in writing?”
Ward hid a grin as he unlooped Brocco’s reins and then walked the gelding into the center of the corral, Tess walking stiffly by his side.
“I’m going to give you a leg up but first, this,” he said, and he angled his head and kissed her, his lips moving persuasively over hers. He kept kissing her until he felt her relax by incremental degrees.
When their lips parted she managed a tiny smile for him. “Is this standard service for all nervous novice riders?”
“No, ma’am,” he drawled. “You’re getting the special package.”
“Music to a New Yorker’s ears.”
He laughed and pressed his lips to hers once more. Before she could get nervous again he said, “Give me your left leg.” Cupping her shin, he said, “Ready? One, two, three.”
He boosted her up in the air. Although he wouldn’t term her landing exactly graceful, she nonetheless managed to swing her leg over and settle into the saddle.
“Ward, this is really high off the ground. Where’s the seat belt?”
“No need for one. See these parts of your saddle?” His hands framed her front and back. “This is your pommel and cantle and they’re shaped nice and high. And see this horn here? If you feel you’re losing your balance and need something solid to hold on to, just grab hold of it.”
“That I think I can do.”
He gave her thigh a pat and felt the muscle beneath her tight jeans leap in response. If he hadn’t been determined to get her comfortable and confident on Brocco, he might have let his hand wander, discovering what other places might quicken beneath his touch. Later, he promised himself. Later he’d peel her out of those jeans and sweater and indulge himself, kissing and stroking her as she writhed and arched beneath him, urging him on, her moans of pleasure fueling his.
Right now he had the responsibility of encouraging her to discover an entirely new pleasure: the thrill of being carried on Brocco’s broad back. It was up to him to orchestrate it perfectly.
She didn’t know how he did it, but whenever the fear started to overwhelm her, Ward was there, immediate and reassuring, telling her what to do with the horse, his voice as soothing as if she were cradled in his strong arms.
With his coaching, she let her legs relax and lengthen, and loosened her death grip on the saddle horn protruding from the center of the saddle.
She actually thought she was doing a good job keeping the terror of riding the huge horse at bay when Ward announced that now that she and Brocco had executed two perfect laps of the corral they were going to head out on the trail.
“Are you sure about that?” she asked, her voice shrill. “What if he decides to run off somewhere, like to the nearest grain store?”
“He’s not going to go any faster than a walk today. You can trust him.”
“You’re sure we won’t go any faster than this?” She was babbling but that was the least of her worries.
“I promise.”
She drew a calming breath. She believed him. It was simple. It was amazing. Yeah, he’d shamelessly seduced her onto Brocco’s back with that irresistible line about kissing all her aching parts (of which she guaranteed she’d have at least a hundred), but she’d known even as she relented that Ward would keep her safe. In the wreckage of her marriage to David, her ability to trust had been severely damaged. Yet Ward, whom she’d initially pegged as high-handed and arrogant, had been the one to restore it. He was a proud man. But she now understood that his pride went hand in hand with a profound decency and honesty. If he told her she’d be safe with Brocco, then he’d do everything to make that so.
In which case she might as well try to relax, especially since her muscles were threatening to cramp big-time.
She made herself concentrate on the foreign noises: the heavy clop and scrape of Brocco’s hooves on the dirt path as they followed the line of fenced pasture. She marveled at the sounds he made—the round, wet snorts, the grunts that emanated from deep in his belly. Combined with the jangle of the metal bit and the creak of the leather saddle, they made oddly fascinating music.
Slowly she learned the rolling rhythm of Brocco’s walk and unbent herself enough to move with it by rocking her lower back. Her grip around the saddle horn remained tight, but she no longer clutched it like a panicked child.
Astride Rio, Ward walked abreast of her, and she figured that the horses must be used to this. Their necks swayed and their heads bobbed in an easy sync. They passed fields dotted with cattle in small and large clumps, some with tails swishing as they grazed. A few lay on the earth dozing. They looked like black and rust-red boulders against the afternoon sky.
The cattle made her think of the video she’d made. “My friend Anna called me earlier. Apparently the video I took of you and Bilbao when you were keeping that cow away from the rest of the herd has gotten really popular. You’re a hit.”
“Bilbao’s a fine horse.”
“I don’t think the people following my tweets know any more about horses than I do. I meant you personally are the hit.”
“So that explains Phil’s euphoria. He said he’d no sooner posted the dates for the cowgirls’ weekend on the website than he was deluged with emails and calls.”
Something in Ward’s voice made her glance at him. Not even the shadow of his hat could conceal the red flag coloring his cheek. Wonder of wonders, he was embarrassed. Who knew the man could be cute as well as sexy as all get-out?
She couldn’t resist teasing him. “Guess there must be a lot of women hoping you’re part of the weekend package.”
“Christ, I thought this Twitter business would be about increasing the number of bookings—”
“And not the number of women looking at pics of yummy hunks doing cowboy stuff? The two go hand in hand.”
After grumbling something under his breath, he said, “I’ll figure out a way to get Reid and Quinn to handle the activities that weekend. It shouldn’t be hard to twist their arms.”
Enjoying herself thoroughly, she managed to shrug without jerking on the reins, something Ward had said was a no-no in riding. “Fine. You want to cause a riot and have a bunch of irate women post lousy reviews on TripAdvisor because they didn’t get to bat their eyelashes at the star of their cowboy fantasies, that’s your business.”
A muscle twitched beneath his stubble-shadowed jaw. Then he ground out, “I’m calling for an immediate moratorium on pics or videos of me. Stick to Reid.”
“He is a lot prettier.”
Distracted, she hadn’t realized how far they’d traveled—Brocco’s gait covered a lot more ground than she’d have guessed—and suddenly she became aware that the terrain had changed dramatically. They’d entered the forest, surrounded by the trees she’d previously seen only from a distance as a dark green smudge covering the mountains.
She glanced up. Pale bands of light sliced the thick
canopy. The tree trunks reminded her of the columns in a cathedral, their towering lines arching overhead as their branches joined. Cool moist air hung heavy in the hushed quiet. Even the horses’ hooves were muffled. She’d never seen trees so tall, so massive, so numerous. As a setting it was beautiful and a tiny bit unsettling. Yet Brocco’s pace remained steady. If he wasn’t nervous, surely she could remain calm. Awed but calm.
They didn’t speak. For Tess, speaking of the mundane would be akin to desecration in such a place. To voice what was growing stronger in her heart was impossible, too. Because though the trees had probably survived for centuries here, she feared that what she felt for Ward might not—that somehow the love she sensed taking root in her heart would be destroyed by as-of-yet unseen forces. She reminded herself of the promise she’d made—to keep things physical, to avoid thinking of a relationship that involved commitment and love—and rode on next to the man who had given her more than he could ever guess.
WARD WAS NOTHING if not diligent in searching out all the spots that were sore from Tess’s first horseback ride. After test-driving Mike O’Roarke’s car, which she decided she loved because its driver’s seat felt like heaven rather than like a saddle, they’d gone to his house where, with a take-charge authority she was coming to appreciate in a whole new way, he’d stripped her out of her clothes and then shucked his own before scooping her up and carrying her to the tiled walk-in shower.
Under the pulsing hot jets, he’d commenced his first round of ministrations. Caressing her with soap-slicked hands and the rough cat-tongue lick of the washcloth, he kneaded her muscles with long, sure strokes, massaging them until they felt as pliant as warm putty.
He didn’t stop there. Wrapping her in a fluffy bath towel, he carried her to the bed. Laying her upon it, he followed her down and turned his attention to spots that ached just for him.
Heat pooled low and urgent in her belly with each knowing glide of his strong fingers, with each quick nip, and each slow, dragging lick of his tongue as he unerringly found the spots on her body—the inside of her elbows, the hollow behind her ears, the side of her breasts, the point of her hip bones—that sent silver streaks of pleasure coursing through her. Her moans turned to whimpers of need.
She felt him smile against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. He’d been working his way up it, alternating between kisses, licks, and playful bites, a triad designed to drive her mad. “Oh God, Ward,” she panted, spiraling ever closer to the edge. “Please, whatever you do, don’t ever stop.”
“Bossy bit of goods, aren’t you? Lucky for you I like you bossy.”
Actually, she wasn’t all that demanding and she considered herself reasonably sane. But Ward summoned aspects of her character that no one else could, and she’d never been so greedy or so wild for a man’s touch before.
Not even with David. In the beginning his lovemaking had been sweet and satisfying. And then, after they’d married, neither of those. But even when things had been right and happy between them, their lovemaking hadn’t compared to how she felt when wrapped in Ward’s embrace: beautiful, desired, and special.
Ward’s mouth was meandering ever closer to the V of her legs, bringing him tantalizingly near to where she wanted him most, then pausing, retreating. Tormenting her so deliciously. “More?”
Digging her fingers into his wet hair she tugged and arched her back in supplication, in blatant invitation.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’ ”
Slowly he drew his finger down her cleft and inserted it into her slick heat.
She tightened around him. “Just so you know, I’m planning a serious retaliation,” she managed to gasp.
“I can’t wait.” His low laugh washed over her like a hot wind running before a storm. He closed his mouth over her as his fingers worked their magic and summoned waves of pleasure to crash over her. She came with a piercing cry.
And then, when he pulled her into his arms and ran his hands gently over her, pressing soft kisses into her brow until her tremors had ceased, something far more powerful stole into her carefully guarded heart.
The ring of Ward’s cellphone woke him from the near catatonic slumber he’d fallen into after making love to Tess. The woman gave as good as she got and she’d been fiercely creative in torturing him with her mouth before driving him nearly insane while she lowered herself slowly inch by inch onto his throbbing cock.
As was her wont, Tess was sleeping draped over him, her lush curves and silky hair the most exquisite blanket imaginable. He managed to grab the phone off the bedside table without dislodging her or even disturbing her much. She simply burrowed closer and mumbled drowsily against his sternum.
He answered the phone with a smile. “Ward here.”
“Hey, buddy, it’s me.”
“Brian, how are you?” He kept his voice as low as possible.
“I’m good. We can’t wait to see you.”
“Same goes. You and I get to do the fun stuff, like choose the wines and champagne with Reid and listen to demo tapes of the bands. Tess has found some good ones.”
“Sounds right up my alley.”
“You’ll also get to taste the cakes and decide on the menus for the meals. And maybe smile for the photographer. But the other items on Tess’s list are basically girlie—flowers and stuff.”
Brian cleared his throat. “Speaking of girlie stuff, Ward, there’s a development. I wanted to give you a heads-up.”
Ward stilled, and it seemed as if the gentle inhale and exhale of Tess’s breath against his throat was the only movement.
“It’s Erica.” Brian sighed. “She heard that Carrie and I were coming to see you this weekend and wants to join us, saying that as her stepsister and maid of honor she’d love to help Carrie decide things. I’m sorry, Ward, but we couldn’t figure out how to say no. Carrie hates to make her feel left out.”
Damn, he should have guessed something like this would happen since Erica was an expert at pushing buttons and Carrie was the world’s softest touch—with Erica in particular. She carried a goodly amount of guilt at being the child who’d gotten to live with Erica’s father, Carrie’s mother being his second wife.
“When’s Erica coming?”
His voice must have sharpened, for Tess raised her head from his chest to blink at him, her deep brown eyes coming into focus. Damn and double damn.
“Her car’s in the shop. She’s going to meet us at the airport.”
“You mean she plans on being here the whole weekend?” He couldn’t hide his incredulity.
“We haven’t seen her in a while, since she didn’t come east for Christmas. She seems to think this will be a great bonding experience for her and Carrie.”
Ward coughed. Because it was that or snort in disgust. Tess was now fully awake, her elbows propped against his chest and following the conversation. He was sure she could hear Brian’s every word.
“Ward, I’m really sorry—”
“It’s not your fault.” Family was family, after all. It wasn’t like Ward didn’t bend over backward for his own. Then again, they’d never act like Erica. “Did it even occur to her that we might be booked?”
“She was sure you wouldn’t be.”
Ward ground his teeth.
“She called your reservation desk. She’s got a cabin—nowhere near ours, thankfully.”
Dull pain throbbed in his jaw as he said, “Then I guess we’ll be seeing the three of you tomorrow.”
“Can’t tell you how sorry I am about this. Awkward as hell.”
“Yeah. Good thing I love Carrie and kind of tolerate you. See you tomorrow.”
He clicked the phone off and met Tess’s gaze.
She didn’t beat around the bush. “So your ex-fiancée’s coming for the weekend.”
“Looks like it.”
She sat up, and he scowled but didn’t attempt to draw her back down, though he did rest his hand possessively on her naked thigh.
“And she’s g
oing to help Carrie in her decisions?”
He gave her credit for trying to be diplomatic when she could have used words like “horn in” and “bully” and not been too far off the mark.
He sighed. “Brian’s my best friend. I want his and Carrie’s wedding to go smoothly and be the happiest event we can arrange for them. I’d also like to impress the roughly hundred guests that will be in attendance in the hopes that some of them may decide to come back and enjoy a stay at Silver Creek on their own. Or spread the word about the ranch to their friends and acquaintances. Word of mouth is still our best promotional tool. If I object to Erica’s coming she’s going to throw a hissy fit. And she might not be over it by the wedding date.”
“Sounds like a charmer, your ex.”
He cocked his head. “And your husband was faultless?” He’d learned a lot about Tess in recent days. That drowsy lambent period between bouts of making love was an especially good time for subtle interrogations and accumulating facts about this woman. He now knew about Nicco Bandinelli, the first boy she’d kissed in sixth grade, and about the men she’d dated before meeting her husband, David. They’d been strings-free affairs because she was too busy working at La Dolce Vita and most guys wanted to date women who were free evenings. He’d managed to conceal his annoyance over their existence and the fact that he and Tess also had a so-called strings-free thing going on by reminding himself that what mattered was that she was with him now. There was plenty of time to ease her into accepting a deeper commitment, of getting her to admit she cared for him.
He also had a far better insight into just how difficult it had been for her family to cope with the unending stress and heartache of her brother Christopher’s disability. Though she never articulated it, Ward thought that it must have led to a pretty difficult childhood for her. With the bulk of her parents’ energy going to caring and worrying over Christopher, there’d been precious little left for her. Another person might have resented being relegated to the role of all-but-invisible child, yet Tess had instead accepted how taxed the elder Casaris were. Not many people would have that kind of sympathy for their parents.
