I took a couple of bites, mostly drinking my coffee and trying to make sense of what had happened up in Declan’s office. I’d promised him I’d work hard to pay back a loan, told him that he could name the terms of the agreement.
“I name the terms,” Declan had repeated, his voice authoritative and commanding.
Why did it sound so scary coming out of his mouth? And why did it make my pulse race? When I really thought about it, he’d been an asshole. He’d actually asked me why he should bail out a failing ranch. Dick.
Outside the window, people spilled out of office buildings for lunch hour. High heels and suit jackets, iPhones and Androids, everyone looked busy talking to their coworkers, their mobile devices, or both at the same time. Fast paced, it all blurred before me. I had too much going on inside.
I was still reeling from Declan’s presence, rocked to the core. I thought I’d managed to keep it together up in his office. Mostly. But inside, I’d instantly melted into a hot mess. When I’d first walked into the room and seen him, it had felt like all the years between us dropped away.
But as much as I might feel the same way, everything else had changed completely. We now lived in totally separate and opposite worlds. While I still felt at home back on the ranch in our creaky old barn of a house, he was now surrounded by money and privilege. His office gleamed with polished woods and rich leathers. His window looked out over everything else in the city.
I didn’t know him now. He was a stranger to me. He had nothing personal in his office, no framed photos, no clues to the internal life of the man in the suit. He hadn’t worn a wedding ring, but I still had no idea whether or not he was single. His desk had been completely bare save a large computer screen and a phone.
I had to remind myself, I hadn’t known him all that well back in the day either. I’d thought I was starting to, beginning to get past that tough, gruff exterior and grow close to the man within. But I’d been kidding myself. As it turned out, sometimes you should judge a book by its cover. When a man seemed dark and dangerous, the type who’d melt your panties and make you beg for more then leave in the middle of the night without a trace? Sometimes that’s exactly who they really were.
How perfect that his company was named Obsidian Investors. The obsidian cliffs were a few hundred miles away from our ranch, but every now and then a chunk would show up on our land and you couldn’t help but be riveted by it, shining with glassy black swirls in the light. You couldn’t help but want to reach out, dust it off and run your fingers along it, exploring the smooth ridges and grooves. It drew you in, but it didn’t warm to your touch and you certainly never saw through it. It remained a cold, immovable rock. Like Declan.
Come to think of it, I remembered I’d given him a piece of obsidian I’d found back in the day. I’d been such an idiot. I’d chased him around like a puppy, giving him homemade pies and trinkets I found in the dirt, hoping that would make him notice me.
In his office when he’d said it had been a while since we’d seen each other, I’d blurted out “six years.” Sipping my coffee, I cursed myself, wondering how much I’d given away in that moment. I’d clearly missed him, felt his absence. At least I hadn’t blurted out something more precise like “five years, ten months and twelve days.” I hadn’t been counting the hours we’d been apart, I honestly hadn’t, though the sad truth was I could probably figure out the exact number of days since he’d been gone in a heartbeat.
Then the man had had the gall to taunt me. “You need to sell me,” he’d said. “You’d better bring it.”
You didn’t tell a woman who’d grown up on a ranch in the middle of one of the toughest states in the entire union to bring it. There was a reason no one in their right minds lived in Montana. It wasn’t a fluke that we only had about six or seven people for every square mile of land. The average person couldn’t hack it. Me? I loved it. I’d lived through droughts, wildfires, flash floods, and 24 of the coldest damn winters a person should ever have to endure. Oh, I knew how to bring it.
Coming to see him had probably been a huge mistake. But I was in it now. There was nothing to do but see this through. I’d meet him tonight for dinner. At some restaurant named after foods people never really ate, persimmon and pomegranate, some kind of crap like that.
I took one last sip of my coffee, finishing the final drop. I tossed the paper cup in the trashcan along with my uneaten lunch. There was clearly only one thing to do tonight: deliver a knock-out punch. He’d told me to bring it? I’d bring it. I’d make him fall right out of his chair I’d bring it so hard.
I had a mission to accomplish. Step one: shopping.
Out in the sunshine, my boots clipped along the sidewalk, fueled now by bright, intense defiance. I’d get my truck and drive over to the upscale shops, the kinds rich tourists shopped in, the ones that sold dresses that delivered a mean KO.
So what that I didn’t have a penny to my name? I still had one credit card that wasn’t fully maxed out. And goddamn it I was tired of living like a nun, scrimping and saving and staying up late every night with nothing but my grief over my father’s death and debt-ridden ledger books to keep me company. I was 24 for Pete’s sake. When was the last time I’d bought something new for myself? It had to have been a few years ago, before my dad had gotten sick.
Yup, that was it. I remembered the pretty cotton shirt with the little flower sprigs I’d bought at Walmart for a date with a rancher from one town over. Two and a half years ago. That had been an awesome night, all paws and tongue and bad breath. We hadn’t gone out again.
Honestly, even before my dad had gotten sick it wasn’t as if I had a lot of inspiration to get myself gussied up. My dating pool was pretty limited. When you lived out in the middle of nowhere you were basically looking at a bunch of guys you’d gone to high school with. You’d known them when they’d gone through that gangly awkward phase with the acne. You’d heard all about their attempts to get into your friend Mandy’s pants after that football game. So when they sidled up to you at a bar Saturday night your heart didn’t exactly go pitter pat.
My high school boyfriend, Bruce, had returned to town about six months ago. He’d made it clear he’d be more than happy to pick up where we left off. I’d made it clear I had no interest.
The June sun beamed down and I tilted up my face to bask in the warmth, full-on like a sunflower. Who knew, maybe tonight would go well? Maybe Declan would help me out and I’d be able to turn things around? Maybe there was a chance for a fresh start?
Not between us, of course. Even in my most hopeful moments I didn’t allow my heart to go there. The man was deep in a new world with money and the women who chased it. But tonight I’d show him I wasn’t such a hayseed. I could play with the best of them.
Two hours later I was feeling a whole lot less brassy. Apparently dresses could cost over a thousand dollars. In one white-on-white boutique the price tag I’d touched had nearly burnt my fingers. In another shop the price of a simple black dress had made me snort, drawing vicious glares from both of the praying mantis-like salesgirls. I’d figured on spending maybe a hundred total on a dress and shoes—money I could save by not booking myself into a hotel and just driving home through the night. But in the shops I’d seen, I’d be lucky if that could buy me a button and half a zipper.
I’d about given up hope when I came across a storefront that spoke directly to me: Deals ‘n’ Steals. A consignment store, the upscale cousin of the thrift shop.
I walked in and out from behind a clothes rack a large woman appeared, wrapped in layers of silks and what appeared to be an ostrich feather popping out of a headband. “How can I help you, dear?” she asked with a sweet smile.
I mumbled about needing to look amazing that night but not having enough money to do it.
“A date tonight?”
I nodded. “At the restaurant at the Stanyon Hotel.”
“Fig and Fennel!” The saleswoman clapped her hands together, her feather bobbing around
, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “The nicest restaurant in Billings? You have to knock ‘em dead.”
The nicest restaurant in the city? And Declan had asked me if I’d heard of it, like I made it up there every weekend to go out for fine dining. Fig and Freaking Fennel. What was fennel anyway? It wasn’t on the menu at the Chat ‘n’ Chew.
I shrugged, my earlier fire down to a wisp of smoke. “Knock ‘em dead would be nice, but I’d settle for something that doesn’t look like I bought it off the sale rack at Walmart.”
She winked at me. “Let’s do this.”
After a whirlwind of activity, I found myself in a large changing room with a waist-high pile of dresses on a chair. I tried them on, the good, the bad and the horrible until, suddenly, I found it. The perfect little black dress. Thin straps, form-fitting, ending mid-thigh. Emphasizing every curve yet also somehow classic, could I hope even for elegant?
Looking in the mirror, I put a hand on my hip and pursed my lips. I bent over a bit as if leaning in to Declan, offering him a generous view of cleavage. God, I wanted to make him want me. Payback for all those years I’d spent pining for him. All those nights I’d had nothing but my hand, pleasuring myself until I was wet and panting, gasping his name. I’d show him what he’d missed, what he’d turned down.
When I’d walked into his office that morning, I’d heard it in his voice, how he always used to dismiss me, brush me off. “What brings you here, Kara?” Gruff, displeased, yet still sexy as hell. He really knew how to make me feel like an annoying teenager. But you know what didn’t look at all like an annoying teen? Me in that dress. Pair it with four-inch stilettos and I was a full-blown, all-woman siren. Try to brush me off now, Declan.
I grabbed a black lacy bra and matching panties just for the hell of it. The shop had some new inventory mixed in with the consignment pieces, and a dress that hot deserved some candy underneath. Getting rung up at the cash register, I held my breath. The moment of truth. Seemingly unaware of my discomfort, or maybe trying to distract me, the saleswoman asked, “Where are you getting your hair done?”
“Oh, no, I don’t have the money.”
“What’s that now?”
“I don’t have the money to—”
“Are you trying to say something crazy about not getting your hair done?”
“Yeah, I know I should, but—”
She held up her hand like a traffic cop at rush hour. I knew enough to shush. She kept her hand like that while she pushed a button on her cell phone and placed a call. I heard her say “special client” and “the works.”
Then she pressed a few more magic buttons on the register. “Oh, look, honey! It’s all on sale.” She gave me another wink.
My eyes filled up with tears, my voice cracking a little as I thanked her. I’d just met a real, live fairy godmother. She worked at a second hand store and wore an ostrich feather on a headband. The world was a strange and wonderful place.
“You go now, head on up to the salon on 8th. They’re expecting you. That man of yours is going to have a heart attack tonight.” She hustled me out of the store. “Have the EMTs waiting!” I had to laugh as I walked away, waving a grateful good-bye.
A few hours later I stood in front of the mirror in the salon’s changing room, not at all sure who was looking back at me in the reflection. I’d decided to change into everything—lingerie, dress, heels—at the salon. It had more appeal than the back of my truck.
In the mirror, gone was the rancher, the woman who tied her hair back in a functional ponytail and wore old boots and jeans. Gone was the waitress, a gravy stain across her apron. In her place stood a movie star.
I’d been buffed, polished and even perfumed by the city’s best. They’d done my hair, giving it crazy volume and big, luscious curls plus a few subtle highlights along the sides that made me look positively sun-kissed. They’d applied makeup like the pros, giving me a subtle sheen with smoky eyes and glistening lips.
I’d even gotten waxed. I hadn’t planned on it, but it had happened: my first Brazilian. I guessed if you were going to wear barely-there lingerie it went with the territory. And I had to admit, there was a part of me that had liked the naughty thrill of it. Of course Declan would never find out. The night wasn’t going to go there, but I still felt an excited charge. He’d never know, but it still would be fun, sitting across the table from him with my little secret.
I paid, and that about did it for my credit card. I was surprised it didn’t spontaneously burst into flames after the transaction went through, including a generous tip. My card’s swan song.
Then I took myself, little black dress plus a whole bunch of butterflies in my stomach, on up into my old pickup truck, Bessie. I wiped down the front seat first with a towel, laughing as I did it. We sure made a contrast. I might be dressed up to enter into Declan’s world for the night, but I’d drive home in Bessie afterwards, heels kicked off in the back as I stretched out my toes.
She started up with a few sputters, shudders and a lurch. I drove toward the restaurant as if into battle, my stilettos my weapon. Actually, they’d do pretty well in a pinch.
What I really needed was a full coat of armor. Seeing Declan, my body had responded like he was water and I’d been dying of thirst. In his office at 11 o’clock in the morning, he’d turned me into a hot, quivering mess. How would I handle sitting across from him at night in a romantic setting, soft music, maybe a candle burning between us?
I could hear Declan’s low voice, “I name the terms.” Why did that make me tingle with anticipation? Excitement. I shouldn’t think that way. But what would his terms be?
There were things I wanted to do with him, to him, for him. Things I never let myself think about during the light of day. Those fantasies I kept for late at night when I couldn’t sleep, when I lay awake in my bed frustrated. I’d give in, stroking myself until I dripped with need, until I shuddered and cried out his name.
Would those kinds of things be his terms? I hoped not. God help me, I didn’t know that I could resist.
CHAPTER 4
Declan
Then
The first time I saw Kara I knew I had to have her. I was talking with Harlan, her daddy, about working at his ranch over the next few months. He’d grilled me some, but seemed to size me up quick and decided to take a chance. I’d work hard for him and he knew it.
“That’s it, down there.” He was talking about where I’d be living over the summer, pointing to a cabin. At 21 years old I’d have my own place for the first time in my life. No more crashing on couches or sharing a room with other ranch hands, four of us up on bunks. It looked small, simple and just right.
Then she pulled up, her truck barreling into the yard like she was being chased by the cops. The dirt plumed up so I couldn’t see her full on when she first got out of the cab.
I swear, the cloud of smoke parted and she stepped out like something in a movie. Like it was slow motion, she shook out her hair in a blonde waterfall.
She had the hottest body I’d ever seen. I’m not joking. I had to keep my tongue from rolling out of my mouth like a cartoon character. She had perfect curves, the kind of hourglass figure you fantasized about. Full, ripe breasts, rounded hips and a tiny waist you needed to get your hands around.
Like I needed anything else to complete the fantasy, she was wearing a tight little cheerleading outfit. Right out of a skin flick, her short, pleated skirt gave me a mile-long view of her long, shapely legs. It ended right before the action really began, not more than an inch or two below the tops of her thighs. Her shirt stretched taut across the full, tempting curve of her breasts. Big, round and perky, pressing against the fabric, I could tell she was tamping them down in a jog bra. I wanted to set them loose, see them in something that really showed them off. Or, better yet, naked and all mine for the taking.
Struck as I was by the rest of her, I still noticed that she had the prettiest face. Sweet, pink pouty lips, bright blue eyes and that mane of
thick, golden hair like in a fairy tale. She smiled and I swear the sun broke free of the clouds in the sky above like in a Disney movie.
My eyes narrowed and a dark smile played at the corner of my lips. She might look like a Disney princess, but I sure wasn’t the prince coming to kiss her. I was a bastard. I wanted to see those rosy, juicy lips wrapped tight around my shaft, sucking wet and hard. I wanted to see her eyes glaze with lust as I stroked her pussy, making her come for me. I wanted to bend her over the hood of my truck, spread those legs and spank that high, tight ass. Then plunge my cock into her, deep, to claim her and make her mine.
“Kara, when are you gonna slow down?” Harlan chastised her.
“I was going the speed limit, Daddy,” she pouted.
Aw, fuck. The boss man’s daughter. I should have known. Pretty china up on a shelf, look but don’t touch. Just my luck.
“Come on over here and meet Declan.”
She started walking toward us and I should have looked away, but I had to watch her move. I leaned against the house, boot up, playing it cool. Like I didn’t have a huge hard-on for her. The hotter you got, the cooler you had to act. I’d learned that fast in life. The instant you showed your weakness you were fucked.
She took one long stride after another, sex on legs, a lingerie model on a photo shoot. Well goddamn, the boss had a daughter hot as fuck. 100% off limits. Harlan wouldn’t want me messing with her, that much I knew straight away. He’d likely cut my balls off and I liked my balls. If I’d known a stick of dynamite like her was included in the job offer, I might have turned it down. I didn’t need that kind of trouble. I needed the work. I didn’t need some cheerleader porn star prancing around me, screwing things up.
I could see her me checking out. She got close enough that she saw my tattoo. Part of me wanted to flex, give her a ticket to the gun show and see her eyes widen in appreciation. I knew girls liked what they saw, all muscle and man. I’d had more than a few women come up to me, using interest in my tattoos as an excuse to touch, flirt, show me what they wanted. I was only too happy to oblige.
Unleashed: Volume 1 (Unleashed #1) Page 4
