by Becky McGraw
She smiled, and waved her hand. “Long story…” she said, walking over to the table. Her green eyes sparkled as she shrugged. “You said we should always use them, so I stocked up.”
“Well, we might not have time to work through the first box, unfortunately.” Zack’s stomach lurched as he reached for the second bag, but he breathed a sigh of relief when he opened it and found not one, but two bottles of Jack. His hand shook as he pulled out a bottle, removed the black wrap over the cap and unscrewed it. He filled the eight-ounce glass almost three-quarters full then tipped it to his lips.
“Bad day?” Heather asked with concern.
“That’s putting it mildly,” he replied, pausing to cut her a look, before he lifted the glass to guzzle half of the fiery amber liquid. It slithered down his dry throat to set his stomach on fire, and warmth spread through his body.
“Well, I had a good day, but you’re ruining it,” she announced, as she turned to walk to the kitchen. She came back to the table with a glass of her own. “Tell me what’s got you so down,” she mumbled, as she filled her glass half-full too. “You feeling sorry for yourself? Giving up? Not happening, mister, or I’m telling your buddies what a pussy quitter you are. You’re going to finish the four weeks of therapy you have left, and you are going to ride again—got that?”
Heather sounded determined to make that happen regardless of the state of his arm. Zack wished she could do the same for his actual problem. “I’m not giving up—I’m giving in. I don’t have any choice but to retire now.”
“Bullshit!” she shouted, slamming her glass down on the table, then she shocked him when she pushed her palms into his chest. “I’m not letting you quit after all I’ve put up with from you!”
He staggered back, the liquid in his glass sloshing. “All you’ve put up with from me?” Zack repeated, his voice cutting.
“Yes, since you’ve been here, all you’ve done is taunt me, whine and aggravate the crap out of me,” she said, her neck rocking on her shoulders. She took a step forward to jab him in the chest with her finger. “And I’ve worked my ass off to help you get better! You’re getting better, and I’m not letting you quit and say I was the cause of you losing your career.”
Whining? Aggravating her? Well, sweetheart, all I’ve done is work mine off to try to help you work through your hang ups. But somehow he kept those words in his mouth, because he knew they’d hurt her. “Is that a fact?” he asked, through pinched lips.
“You know you’ve been a total pain in my ass, you said it yourself. And I’ve wasted my time, quit my job, and now you’re quitting on me,” she accused, her chin quivering.
“Well, I won’t trouble you anymore, sweet thing. I’m taking the money I’m paying you to put up with me and leaving tomorrow morning.”
“But—but,” she stuttered following him down the hallway.
Zack didn’t stop, he walked into his room, and like she was prone to do, he smiled as he shut the door in her face, locked it, and wished like hell he’d have remembered to bring the bottle of whiskey with him. Ignoring her pounding on the door, he walked to the bed and laid down, pulled out his cell phone to call his father. It rang, the pounding continued, so he disconnected until she stopped.
“Zack open the damned door so we can talk!” she shouted, and he bit back a laugh.
Doesn’t feel so good when you’re on the other side of the door, does it, sweet thing? The pounding stopped finally, and Zack started to dial, but then heard scraping at the door and stopped to listen. What the hell was she doing now?
The door flew inward to slam against the door stopper with a thwang. She caught it on the backswing with her hand and pushed it open. Chest heaving, making her gorgeous breasts bounce, in all her furious, beautiful dark angel glory, Heather filled the doorway of his bedroom. In one hand she held a jumbo box of magnum condoms and in the other a butter knife.
“Oh no, mister,” she said, taking gulping breaths, waving the knife at him. She stomped to the bed and threw the box at him. It hit him in the center of his chest, and he caught it. “You are going to use those damned condoms. All. Three. Boxes. I’m not wasting sixty bucks!”
Laughter bubbled in Zack’s chest. If he used those three boxes of condoms with her, he’d be a pile of ashes in the middle of the sheets and a year older when they were done. Zack tried to hold his anger but failed. This was just too damned funny. And hot. He grinned. “What are you going to do? Keep me here as your sex slave?” he asked, the thought sending a shot of molten lava through his veins.
Her brows pinched over her angry green eyes. “If that’s what it takes, yes!” she shouted, putting her hands on her hips to glare down at him. They had a staredown for a second, but then her eyes brightened, her face relaxed and she smiled. Her eyes issued a challenge as her fingers crept up to the hem of her tank top and she turned her back to him to remove her shirt. “But I don’t think it will come to that.” She held the shirt in her hand out to the side and let it drop to the floor beside the bed.
Zack’s heart choked him when he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra. Why the hell hadn’t he noticed that this morning before she left? When she came home? No strap cut her creamy skin all the way down to the waistband of her jean shorts, which rode low on her curvy hips.
His cock strained against his zipper, and his palms itched to feel their weight, his tongue buzzing to taste her again. He wanted to see those beautiful breasts in the daylight, find out for sure what color her dime-sized nipples were. Leaning up on his elbow, he watched curiously as she stepped away from the bed to go to the clock-radio-CD player on the dresser.
What the hell was she up to? More toy surprises?
Heather opened a dresser drawer and pulled out a CD and something else, which she laid on the dresser in front of her. As she leaned over to insert the CD in the player, she gave him a delicious view of the bottom of her round ass cheeks which peeked from beneath the hem of her shorts. Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy started playing, and her ass swayed in dramatic time as she unbuttoned her shorts. Hooking her thumbs into the waistband, she slowly pushed them over her hips and a lacy, black thong appeared. With slow, dramatic and enflaming wiggles of her backside, she worked the shorts down to her ankles, then stepped out of them.
On her way back up, she jerked something off the dresser, before turning around again. Seeing the red sheer scarf covering her breasts, Zack knew right then she wasn’t going to play fair. The gloves were off, and even without ropes or scarves, he was hog-tied right where he was until Heather Morrison was done with him.
But he wasn’t about to let her know that.
Chapter Ten
Mesmerized, Zack watched as Heather slid the filmy scarf from side to side across her breasts and her nipples pebbled. Her eyes held his captive as she moved the scarf and timed her hip pops with the music to take halting steps toward him. When she neared the bed, Zack reached out for the scarf, but she turned away with a giggle then turned back to playfully waggle her finger in reprimand.
In a flash, she wound the scarf around her body making sure her beautiful breasts were still covered. She smiled and turned one end of the scarf loose to let it snake over her curves as she danced for him, careful only to give him flashes of her bouncing breasts. She was giving him his own personal striptease, and he’d never seen a woman better at it in his life. No wonder she made so much money at that club.
Heather lifted her hands over her head to let the material whisper down to cover her body, then arching her back, she slowly bunched the cloth in her fists winding it upward. Inch by aching inch, she dragged the scarf over her erect nipples, making little moans that hit his system like darts of fire. In Zack’s mind, even over the loud music, he could hear her nipples snagging the delicate material as it moved up her body, making him yearn to feel their rasp against his tongue.
The material crept upward until her toned thighs appeared, then her barely covered crotch that played peek-a-boo with her movements, then her ti
ght stomach which undulated with her swaying. The cloth reached the curved underside of her breasts and she stopped cold. Zack grunted, barely breathing by then, his heart thundering in his chest.
Heather laughed as she rearranged the scarf to walk back to the radio and start the song over. This wasn’t teasing now, it was torture. With a growl, he laid back to unzip his jeans to create more room for his throbbing cock. He lifted his hips to shove his hand into his underwear and fist himself. She turned back toward him and her eyes locked there, and her smile melted into a look that resembled a hungry cat as she licked her full lips and they glistened.
It was Zack’s turn to smile, as he pulled his hand out and shoved his jeans and underwear down over his hips. Two could tease, he thought, as he stroked himself. “Tired of messing around yet, sweet thing? This cowboy is ready for a ride. See?” He looked down to slowly rub his thumb over the tip of his cock to spread a pearl of moisture there. “You might miss your chance if you don’t hurry up.”
Heather smiled tightly, the scarf fisted at her curvy hip. “I guess that’s the downside of having sex with a bullrider. You’re only good for eight seconds.” She huffed a breath, and waved a hand at him. “You go ahead then—I have Bob, and he can last all night long.”
Anger shot through him, his hand stilled and Zack frowned. That damned vibrator was going into the trash. The day he was jealous of a fucking appliance would be the day he threw it away. He blew out a breath and dropped his hand to the bed. “Bob won’t need those condoms you spent sixty dollars on,” he reminded smugly, putting his hands behind his head.
Heather just stood there in that thong with the scarf in her fist, staring at him, her breasts heaving with her agitated breaths. Suddenly, seeing her like that, Zack’s mind cleared and her reason for dancing speared his brain like a dagger.
Because it’s exciting, fun. I’m good at it, and I make damned good money doing it.
This woman was a professional dancer, a stripper, and that’s why she was so damned good at this. Other men, a lot of them, had seen her half-naked. Hell what did he know? He’d never been to that club, so maybe they saw her fully nude. That thought caused anger to singe his scalp. Zack would bet after a performance those men were just as frustrated as he was at the moment, and Heather liked teasing them to that point. Because that’s what she got paid to do, and she enjoyed torturing them with her sexuality, probably to pay her stepfather back through teasing those men. Just like she’d teased all those cowboys on the rodeo circuit. Like she was teasing him now.
Look all you want boys, but you can’t touch.
Her body was the tool of her trade, her weapon, and right now, he had a feeling she was using it to punish him for telling her he was quitting therapy, and for locking her out of his room. Scooting to sit on the edge of the bed, he asked nastily, “I’ve never had a private dance from a stripper before. Am I supposed to tip you when you’re done? If I throw in an extra twenty can I touch you, stick my cock in your pussy? Zack slapped his forehead, then pinned her with his eyes. “Oh yeah, that’s off limits, and that explains why you were a virgin. You’re not a whore, Heather Morrison, but you are a fucking prick tease. That’s why you need to be saved so often…well, I’m done saving you, baby.”
Heather’s face fell, and her eyes sparked with hurt, anger and what looked to be embarrassment. Without a word, she turned and walked to the CD player to jab a button, then bent to gather her clothes from the floor. “I’m glad you’re leaving tomorrow,” she said, holding her clothes to her chest as she walked to the door. “It’ll save me from having to kick you out—I hope I never see your ugly ass again. You’re not a cowboy at all, or different. You’re an abusive, judgmental asshole like every other man I know.”
Abusive, judgmental asshole. Like her stepfather.
Zack felt lower than that at the moment, as he heard her sob when she walked down the hallway. He hadn’t meant any of it, and his words, his frustration, was fueled only by his worry about the herd. He’d just taken it out on her, when she added sexual frustration to the mix. Those words that just rolled off his lips a moment ago had undone any good he’d done to help her work through what she’d been through. He was an abusive asshole.
“Heather wait,” Zack said, standing to pull up his jeans and zip them. But when he walked out of the bedroom, the bathroom door slammed, and he heard the bolt slide home in the lock. Staggering into the living room, he sat on the sofa. If it took all night, he would wait for her to come back out, so they could talk. While he waited, he’d make those calls he needed to make, to his daddy, to Twyla for a ride tomorrow, and to that Tulsa prosecutor.
Zack finished the calls and Heather still hadn’t appeared from the bathroom, so he dozed off, sleeping lightly until he heard the bathroom door open. He pushed to his feet and walked to the hallway entrance. Heather came out in a cloud of steam with a white towel wrapped around her body, and another around her hair. She didn’t stop or even look at him. Leaving a cotton candy scented trail behind her, she walked right past him.
He followed her all the way to her bedroom door, which she promptly closed in his face. He heard the lock click, and sighed, then dropped his forehead to the door. “Heather, open the door so we can talk.” When she didn’t answer, he pounded his fist on the door. “Open the damned door!”
“I have nothing to say to you—so save us both some trouble and be gone by the time I get back from running errands tomorrow.”
She was right, he would be doing both of them a favor by leaving. He’d gotten too deep into her problems, cared too much about them. It was time for him to worry about himself now, and let her hardheaded ass figure out things on her own. Things happened for a reason, and that is how he was going to look at seeing the last of Heather Morrison, and bull riding.
This was the beginning of a new chapter in his life. Time to initiate his plan to become a full-time stock contractor and find a woman he could settle down with. A partner in life who didn’t take their clothes off for a living, or have so much baggage he’d never help her unpack it all.
So why then did his heart feel like it was taking a slow slide down to his toes as he undressed and laid down on the bed?
***
Heather pulled on her most comfortable pair of blue jean shorts and a tank top, scraped her hair back into a ponytail and grabbed her duffle bag. After a trip on tiptoes to the bathroom to get her boots, she walked to the front door.
A spark of excitement cut through the sadness she’d fought since last night, as she put her boots on at the door. She had practice at the Cowgirl this morning with the new girls. To go from top dancer to new girl again felt damned weird, but at least she had a job again.
Even though the line was full now, Leon had hired her back yesterday on a part-time, probational basis, but only after a lot of groveling and explaining. He’d also cashed all the checks that Zack had given her, and Heather had put the money in her safe. If she was frugal, that money would tide her over until she proved herself and Leon hired her back full-time. Proving herself though, meant showing up on time and ready to perform, so she needed to get out of the apartment before Zack woke up and tied her up trying to explain his stupidity last night. She didn’t want his excuses or his apologies.
Nothing could explain it, and she would never forgive him. Hopefully, he’d drank himself into a coma after she went to bed and was still passed out. His sister could worry about him when she got to the apartment. Twyla could worry about whether he ate right, took his medicine or got to therapy from here on out too. Heather’s days of worrying about Zack Taylor were done. She was going to wash that man right out of her mind, and find her peace again.
Grabbing her hat off of the table by the door, she put it on her head, and let herself out of the apartment, but didn’t breathe again until she was in her truck pulling out of the complex. And dammit if her eyes didn’t flit to the rearview as she pulled out to see if he was in the doorway. When she didn’t see him, her heart did
a funny little dive in her chest, but she dragged her eyes back to the road, determined to just forget about Zack Taylor.
Well, I’m done saving you, baby.
Last night he showed his true colors to her, and he didn’t know it, but he’d saved her again. He’d saved her from making the ultimate mistake of falling in love with a man who was mean, cruel and didn’t respect her. Someone just like her stepfather except he didn’t force himself on her. She had willingly given herself to that man, and last night he spit in her face in grand fashion. The dance, which she thought he’d think was sexy and funny, a prelude to sex with him, revealed those colors.
A prick tease.
The nasty words even made her brain feel dirty thinking them. Zack Taylor made her feel dirty, because she’d let his opinion matter to her. Heather had plenty of offers of huge money to do private nude dances, but she’d never agreed. She’d done private dances, but only in pairs with other girls at parties—and fully clothed. Those men liked being teased, paid her well to do it. But none of those men had ever treated her the way Zack Taylor had last night.
Yeah, it was embarrassing, humiliating, having him enlighten her the way he had, but she would survive. And she would never, ever put herself in that position again. His loss, Heather thought, her fists tightening on the steering wheel. Fuck Zack Taylor and the horse he rode into her life on. Let him live in his world, and she’d live in hers.
Heather’s eyes burned, and she blamed it on the bright sunlight. Squinting she saw the turnoff to the county road that led to the Cowgirl and hung a left. The tension in her shoulders eased with every mile she got closer to the Cowgirl. She forced her brain into neutral, just enjoying the scenery, trying to relax herself when a flash of brown and white on the side of the road caught her eye. Adrenaline surged through her, as a loud thud preceded her seeing a deer sliding across her hood toward the windshield. It shattered, Heather screamed and jerked the wheel to the left. Unable to see through the blood, fur and gore on the windshield, she just held on as the truck careened across the road.
