Take Me Again
Page 1
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Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
www.samhainpublishing.com
Copyright ©
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CONTENTS
Take Me Again
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
About the Author
Look for these titles by Mackenzie McKade
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520
Macon GA 31201
Take Me Again
Copyright © 2009 by Mackenzie McKade
ISBN: 978-1-60504-360-9
Edited by Angela James
Cover by Natalie Winters
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: January 2009
www.samhainpublishing.com
Take Me Again
Mackenzie McKade
[Back to Table of Contents]
Dedication
To my wonderful critique partners Sharis Mayers and Jennifer Ray. Thank you! Your support and friendship means the world to me.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter One
Tension crawled across Dolan Crane's shoulders. Not only were his tendons tight, they burned like a sonofabitch. Even his fingers felt stiff as he reached for the key and switched off the truck's engine. For a moment he didn't move. Instead he dragged in a weighted breath.
"What a fucked-up day,” he grumbled on an exhale. A set of headlights flashed through the windshield, blinding him. He squinted against their brilliance and the starry night.
The thought of restarting his vehicle and heading home surfaced but didn't linger. Maybe a night out on the town was what he needed to unwind. He rolled his shoulders listening to the crackle and pop as he leaned his head from side to side. With a little luck, he'd find a sweet thing to cuddle up to and ease his body and mind.
Of course that might be impossible because he was on call this weekend. Doc Zimmerman was off again for a weekend of R and R. The seasoned veterinarian was nearing retirement and Dolan was setting himself up to swoop in and take over. Yet the events of today could throw a wrench into his plans. He watched a shooting star blaze across the sky, burning out in a blink of an eye. For a second he wondered if there was anything significant between the star and his career.
Pulling a weary breath, he held it before releasing it in one gush. “Dammit.” He slammed a palm on the steering wheel.
This afternoon he'd lost a million-dollar colt. By the time Victor Tate had called him it had been too late to save the animal. However, his client didn't see it quite that way.
The man was furious.
It wasn't that Dolan took Tate's ranting to heart; the proof was in the evidence. Lady Liberty had dropped the foal before his arrival, which had been only ten minutes after he'd received the call. Yet the sonofabitch thought money could buy anything, even life. The umbilical cord had been wrapped around the colt's neck. He had saved the mare from bleeding to death, but even that hadn't been enough. Not to Tate or Dolan.
Down on his knees, he had tried to breathe life back into the foal, knowing it was futile. A sense of helplessness had almost overwhelmed him. He hated that feeling almost as much as he regretted losing the colt.
"Not your fault.” He tried once again to convince himself that there had been nothing he could have done.
Would others see it that way? He sure as hell hoped so.
Trying to establish a career in Santa Ysabel, California, the home of some of finest racehorses, he didn't need setbacks like this. Losing a potential racer was like slitting one's throat. His hand went to his neck as if guarding it from the invisible knife he felt pressed against his skin.
"Let it go.” He lowered his hand and blinked hard trying to clear his mind and focus on the muffled cry of a steel guitar coming from the home before him. He finger combed his ebony hair and grabbed his hat off the passenger seat.
Loud music flooded the cab as he opened the truck door and stepped out. A warm summer breeze whipped around him, carrying with it the sweet scent of magnolias. Low vibrating bass echoed in his head as he secured his vehicle before slipping his keys deep into the pocket of his jeans. With both hands he squared his Stetson on his head and tugged the rim forward before heading for the front door.
Jester Norton was known for his house parties. Everyone was invited for a weekend of poker, billiards, dancing, plenty of liquor and several unoccupied bedrooms for those seeking a little extracurricular activity. The last thought put a bounce in Dolan's step. He needed to get laid. Wrap his arms around something other than his problems.
As was customary on a Friday night, the place was packed. The noise level bordered on offensive; then again it could be his rotten mood. He tried to brush away his edginess, but it stuck to him like glue. Maybe he should just go home. Even as the thought entered his mind he continued to stroll into the great room. A kitchen, living and dining room all meshed into one big adult playroom.
His home away from home.
What could he say? He liked the ladies. Always had—always would.
Yet most daddies around here guarded their daughters from him. His reputation preceded him. Bachelor. Carouser. The fact he dabbled a little in ménage a trois probably didn't help his cause with the fathers, but the ladies seemed to find his soiled reputation exciting. He pushed through the crowd, his boots clicking against the polished wood floor as he scoped out the pickings for tonight.
Several couples were on the makeshift dance floor swaying to the gentle beat of a ballad that just started, while a group of cowboys surrounded a table laden with snacks from chips and salsa to hot wings and other appetizers. Even more people were lingering around the bar and overflowing into other areas of the house, including the basement where the real fun usually began.
Amy Waters, a short little blonde he had shared a night or two with, gave him a come-hither smile. Tight jeans and a halter top said she was ready for a night of fun.
Stroking the tip of his mustache, he murmured, “First things first."
Without delay he made a beeline straight for the bar, eyes narrowing on his immediate goal—a drink. Not a smart thing to do si
nce he was on call. Yet one drink wouldn't hurt him.
He leaned in, placing his forearms on the marble surface. “Hit me with a double, Jester."
Okay. Make it two drinks. With a little luck there wouldn't be an emergency tonight.
The barrel-chested man reached for a half-full bottle of whiskey, his other hand going towards a glass. He tipped the bottle, golden liquor splashing over the ice. A look of concern tugged at his friend's brows. “Bad day?"
Dolan breathed in the heady scent of whiskey with a thirst that surprised him. No sipping and savoring the taste tonight. He curled his fingers around the drink and brought it to his lips. “Seen better,” he mumbled against the cool crystal.
Mouth watering, he was about to down the drink when he heard, “Move over, cowboy,” from someone down the bar.
Deep and rich, almost hypnotic, the woman's delivery was like silk gliding over his skin. Images of hot naked bodies pressed together flashed into his head. His cock jerked against his zipper. The result was a flood of tingles surging throughout his body.
Well, that had never happened before. With three little words a stranger had extinguished his foul mood and fired up his libido.
Soft laughter caressed his ears. The denim across his hips tightened even more. Someone must have turned the heater on, making the summer night even warmer. He tugged at the collar of his T-shirt. Lowering his glass, he glanced down the bar for the one who had evoked such a heady reaction within him.
A statuesque redhead stepped up to the bar four people down from him. He couldn't see her face clearly, but the brief view of her profile, porcelain skin, a slightly tipped nose, and a stubborn jaw, made him want to see more. Long, wavy hair the color of copper flowing down her back only added to his need. His palms itched with the yearning to feel the silky threads glide through his fingers.
Jester gawked alongside the rest of the horny men staring in her direction. “Fuckin’ hot,” he murmured more to himself than anyone in particular.
Dolan had to agree. The woman was built like a Rolls Royce. Expensive curves and dips exactly where they should be, but there was a casual air about her. She looked comfortable and confident in a short leather skirt and spaghetti strap tank top.
"Who is she?” he asked.
Nonchalantly, he leaned back to get a better look. Damned if the guy next to him had the same idea, blocking his view. Taking a step backward he glimpsed something black and lacy before the guy next to him once again shifted in his line of sight.
Was that a garter? A smile tugged at Dolan's mouth. He loved garters, especially taking them off.
Jester's grin widened, too. “Never seen her before. Guess I'd better exercise my rights as the host and welcome her to the neighborhood.” Wagging his brows, he wasted no time making tracks down the bar. “Hey darlin'. What's your poison?"
"Bourbon on the rocks,” she answered, wetting her lips. Dolan's cock jerked again.
Now that was interesting. No beer or fruity drink for her. He almost chuckled, recalling what one of his old college buddies had once told him. “Women who drink whiskey are unique. You have to talk dirty to them while challenging them intellectually."
That certainly could be arranged.
Of course, every man in the place was probably planning to take her home. The glass he held clicked as he set the full drink down. This was one woman he had to meet. He stepped away from the bar without a second thought.
As he drew near a hint of powder rose above the scents of alcohol and aftershave. With her back now to him, he took the time to scrutinize her long legs, firm thighs and an ass that made him pause.
Oh yeah. That's what he was talking about. He could visualize his hands resting on those cheeks, parting them. A shudder raked up his spine with the sinful thought of invading that tight rosebud. An unexpected surge of blood rushed his groin. He sucked in a quick breath through clenched teeth, trying to dash his wayward thoughts. Last thing he needed was to have a hard-on when he introduced himself.
Before he could close the distance between them and make his move, the lanky cowboy to her right asked, “Dance with me?"
The shorter man to her left said, “She's dancing with me."
The air thickened around them. Add to that their rigid stance and it was clear they were prepared to fight for the chance to hold her in their arms. Their glares locked and in unison both reached for her.
Dolan heard no fear in her voice when she said, “Uh—boys? No reason to ruin the night.” In fact, amusement laced her laughter as she pressed a palm to each of their chests and with amazing strength wedged them from her. That's when he noticed the definition in her arms. Damned if he didn't find that sexy too. His feet continued to carry him forward.
"How ‘bout I dance with both of you. You first,” she said to the taller of the men. Spinning on the toes of her boots, she came face to face with Dolan.
He looked into turquoise eyes dancing with humor that immediately turned sultry as her eyelashes fell half-mast. Never breaking their connection, he touched the brim of his Stetson. Her full lips parted as if she intended to speak, but before she could make a sound, the cowboy next to her scooped her hand into his and pulled her onto the dance floor.
Strangely, a sense of loss swept over Dolan. For a moment, he was speechless and it appeared his feet didn't work any better. Like an idiot he just stood there. Add the fact that he couldn't keep his eyes off her and he felt more the fool.
That's when it happened. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. Every muscle inside him melted. It took only a moment for him to realize he was staring at her like some love-sick high school boy.
Whoa there, partner.
He mentally pulled himself together. Tired, he rationalized and slowly headed back to the bar to retrieve his drink. Glass cool against his palm, he raised the amber to his lips and took a sip. The whiskey burned so good down his throat. With a clink he placed the glass back on the bar and scanned the crowd. Damned if his gaze wasn't pulled back to the dance floor.
Damn. That little filly could move.
Her body swayed, her feet not missing a step as the cowboy guided her around the floor. As she twirled, her hair floated on the breeze. He couldn't help wondering what it would smell like if he buried his nose deep into its softness.
What was wrong with him? He rubbed a palm over his eyes. Maybe he just needed to leave and go to bed. Before he removed his hand, the image of sexy turquoise eyes popped into his mind. Once again his gaze was drawn to the dance floor by some invisible force. He found himself taking a step toward her.
On the tail end of a spin, she glanced his way. Their eyes met and for a second it felt like time stood still. It was just him—her. Something strange and provocative passed between them.
What the hell?
He was left hanging onto the moment as the cowboy who held her whisked her away and broke their contact. Dolan took another step toward the dance floor. Something was not right. His heart was racing. His breath hitched as he attempted to reel in his emotions.
His full attention was on one redhead who danced seductively to the rhythm of the music. What he would give to have those hips moving against his, her arms bound around him—
A slap on the back ripped him out of the bewitchment she had cast upon him. He blinked, sounds and sights coming back into focus, as well as Rowdy Jackson, a friend from Colorado, standing beside him.
He frowned. “You okay?"
"Hell yes.” Dolan's voice rose with recognition. He jutted his hand out in welcome. “Thought you were coming in tomorrow."
Rowdy was relocating from Denver. No one would know that the six-foot cowboy was a genius with a computer. He had exchanged riding broncos for a keyboard. A local company was paying him a bundle to overhaul their current system.
"Wrapped things up early. Nothing in the Rocky Mountains keeping me, so I hit the road.” Rowdy scanned his surroundings. “Stopped by the house, but you weren't there. We still good for this week
end?” He was bunking with Dolan until the closing of his home scheduled for Monday morning.
Rowdy's grin deepened when his gaze lit on the dance floor. “Well I'll be damned.” Stripping his Stetson off his head, he started to speak but the ringing of a cell phone interrupted him. On the second ring, his friend glanced down at the phone hanging from Dolan's waist. “Going to answer that?"
Well fuck. So much for a night out on the town. Dolan wedged the cell from his belt, flipped the cover open, and pressed it to his ear.
"Crane?” There was urgency in the caller's breathless voice.
Dolan gripped the telephone. “Yes."
"G-grain. Mare got into—” In the background he heard the young male cry out in distress as he dropped the telephone and then scrambled for it.
"Hello?” Dolan stole a glance at the woman of his dreams. Heavy eyelids were shuttered as she stared up at her partner as he spoke to her. “Who is this?"
"Wood. Travis Wood.” The seventeen-year-old sounded scared and close to tears, judging by his quivering voice.
It was just a guess, but Dolan figured one of their mares had gotten into the grain. Not a good thing for a horse. “How bad is it?” Dammit. He could see his opportunity to spend the evening with the redhead slip through his fingers.
"Don't know. God. I-I can't believe this. I just turned my back for a moment. Dad is going to kill me. Can you come quick?"
"Be there in fifteen.” Dolan turned to Rowdy. “Gotta go. Sorry.” Stuffing his hand into his jeans, he pulled out a house key and tossed it to his friend. “Make yourself at home.” Without another word, he turned and rushed for the exit.
As the music ended, Tracy Marx stepped out of the cowboy's arms. Damn. What was his name? Was it John? Paul? George? Ringo? A silent chuckle tickled her throat.
With a sultry expression, he smiled down at her, sliding his palms up her bare arms. “How about another dance?"
"Dance?” She glanced at him not really seeing him. Shamefully, her mind wandered to another—one who'd left her wanting with a single look. The flame had sparked again when their eyes had met once more.