Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down

by KyAnn Waters

  Tie Me Up,

  Tie Me Down

  by

  KyAnn Waters

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down

  COPYRIGHT Ó 2010 by KyAnn Waters

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Angela Anderson

  The Wild Rose Press

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com

  Publishing History

  First Scarlet Rose Edition, January 2010

  Published in the United States of America

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author of this work of fiction

  acknowledges the following trademarks:

  Chevy Silverado: General Motors Corporation

  Coke: The Coca-Cola Company

  Daisy Dukes: Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc.

  Ford F-150: Ford Motor Company

  Stetson: John B. Stetson Company

  Dedication

  Dedicated to those who love and are loved by the rugged, sexy cowboy

  PRAISE FOR AUTHOR

  KyAnn Waters

  AND HER BOOKS

  “KyAnn Waters never fails to thrill me with her storylines and the warmhearted way she presents each and every hero and heroine she brings to life through her writing.”

  ~Chrissy Dionne, Romance Junkies

  Delicious Darkness

  “Author KyAnn Waters definitely has proven to be a writer to keep an eye on in future.”

  ~Annie, The Romance Studio

  HOT BLOODED

  “The one thing I look for in a vampire romance is a good bite scene and KyAnn Waters knows how to deliver the goods.”

  ~Xeranth, Whipped Cream Reviews

  EXECUTIVE POSITIONS

  “Fiery, steamy, and oh so delicious, this book sizzles. Ms. Waters does a fabulous job of telling a fully-rounded story in just a few words.”

  ~ Teagan, Book Wenches

  Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down

  The truck jerked and backfired. “Oh, no. Not now, baby.”

  Jaycee Craven checked her rearview mirror as the truck sputtered. She turned the steering wheel to the right, and the piece of shit drifted to the shoulder of the highway and died. White smoke billowed from beneath the hood, churning and pluming into the stifling hot air.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  The day was too damn hot to break down. The temperature was still rising just like her temper. With the window rolled down on the old Ford 150, she rested her arm on the open edge and puffed a heavy exhale. Her morning couldn’t get any worse. God, let it be the radiator and let there be water in the jug.

  The door squeaked and groaned as she opened it. She peeled her butt and thighs off the torn, tacky vinyl and slammed the door. She walked to the rusted and dented bed of the truck and stood on tiptoes to grab the plastic milk jug half-full of water.

  Returning to the driver’s door, she reached through the open window and tugged the hood release then grabbed a T-shirt to use like an oven mitt to unscrew the cap and release the steam. Rusted metal screeched when she propped up the hood and peered into the engine.

  Jaycee had been working on cars since ninth grade auto shop. Actually, she’d been tuning up this very engine. She was more than competent. The hunk of junk should have seen a salvage yard years ago. However, old Freddie Ford had seen too many good times to let go.

  She reached in and twisted the radiator cap. “Ouch.” She jerked her hand back. She wrapped more of her exposed skin with the shirt and reached for the cap again. After a few quick turns, she had the cap off. Water sizzled and popped as she poured a steady stream into the hole. Jaycee closed her eyes and pretended she didn’t hear the trickle of liquid hitting the road.

  “No. No. No.” She squatted down and looked under the vehicle. “Oh, that is so not good.” The radiator hadn’t overheated. She either’d blown a hose or ripped a serious crack in the casing. She stood, stomped around the front end, tossed the rag into the cab and put the water back in the bed.

  Since the hunk of junk wasn’t going to get her home, she’d have to hoof it. She twisted her keys out of the ignition, grabbed her bag out of the truck, and started walking. If someone stole the broken down, rusted, piece of shit, the thief would be doing her a favor.

  The Sage County fair was in full swing. This morning she’d been working the ranch, getting the stock ready for the rodeo tonight. Sheep needed to be corralled for the mutton run and a couple of Shetlands readied for the kids to ride. She’d had to drive the beater truck to haul gear because her brother, Chase, needed the Silverado to transport horses.

  The hum of an engine sounded behind her. She turned as an intimidating, black, full-sized truck sped toward her. Shading her eyes with her hand, she squinted into the sunshine.

  The truck slowed as it approached. A black Stetson covered sinful dark hair. Just what she didn’t need. Tristan McKay.

  Dark sunglasses hid his whisky-colored eyes. Good thing because those eyes weakened her knees and a half-lidded seductive glance from the delicious cowboy had her creaming in her jeans. Passionate, penetrating, and irresistible—apparently to all women since he seemed to collect them with the same speed he collected gold buckles. A sexy dimple creased in his left cheek and the most aggravating smirk twisted his damn kissable lips.

  Damn Tristan McKay! Dark, dangerous, sexy…and a cheating jackass.

  He pulled along side her and stopped in the middle of the road. “Hey, Jaycee, want a ride?”

  “Hell no.” She already rode that pony—more like a stallion—and while it had been a wild, rough, and kinky as hell pleasure, in the end she’d come out bruised—not from his skills between the sheets, but emotionally. Tristan McKay might ride bareback broncos for eight seconds, but he’d ridden her for two years then left her broken—heart broken.

  Damn cowboys and their rugged manners, tight asses with cans of Skoal in their back pockets, and big cocks.

  “Come on. I saw Freddie back there on the road.”

  Jaycee paused, wondering how smart it was for her to climb into the cab of Tristan’s truck. It wasn’t smart. In fact, it was about the dumbest thing she could do. Yet she took a step closer.

  He leaned over and popped the door open. “Come on. Get in.”

  “Fine.” She climbed in and slammed the door. She’d take the ride in his truck. She didn’t have many options. Half the businesses in town were closed and the ones that were open would be packed with folks coming in from all over the county. The whole town of Shady Hills was celebrating. “I need to get my stuff out of Freddie.”

  Tristan chuckled, put the truck in gear, and flipped a u-turn. He glanced in her direction. She could feel his perusal trekking along the length of her legs to where they met the cut off fringe of her Daisy Dukes high on her thigh. And, of course, her nipples tightened and poked against the ribbed material of her tank top. And, of course, Tristan noticed. He liked tits as much as he liked ass.

  Okay, so she could admit she had liked that he was an ass man. Flutters filled her tummy. She couldn’t think about him, his cock in her ass, or the way he’d ride her hard then love her softly. Sex with Tristan was as intense as the blazing heat from a shot of whisky and the s
low burn that followed.

  She’d do better to remember that while the sex would be great, whisky hangovers were a bitch.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “So when did you roll into town?”

  He adjusted his rangy form in the seat and angled toward her. One limp-wristed hand rested on the top of the steering wheel. She remembered the feel of those long blunt fingers on her body. And the way they had looked on her former best friend, Heather’s butt. She shuddered with the memory.

  “Last night.”

  “I suppose you came in for the rodeo.”

  He nodded. “Wouldn’t miss showing the locals how one of their own can ride.”

  She chuckled. “You never were modest when it came to your abilities.” She wasn’t just referring to his skills on a horse.

  “I’m sad to see the season coming to an end.”

  “Will you be sticking around Shady Hills?”

  “I might.” He took a quick look in her direction then turned back to the road and steered his truck to the shoulder. He pulled up behind her broken down vehicle.

  “I’m sure Heather will be thrilled.” She slammed her side against the door and jumped from the truck. She didn’t want to think about Tristan, didn’t want to see him—didn’t want to still want him. Yeah, she’d had a lot of luck with that. She hadn’t stopped thinking about him in the six weeks since she’d told him to go to hell.

  “Heather was drunk.”

  “Good excuse for her. What’s yours?”

  “Nothing happened.” Fuck, the woman was stubborn. And beautiful. And his. Tristan would never forget the devastation in her eyes when she’d walked in on him and Heather. “Shit, if I could go back and change that night, I would.”

  “So would I,” she said, lugging a small saddle from the back of Freddie.

  “Here, let me have that.” He took the saddle from her and carried it to the bed of his truck.

  “Instead, I’ll have the image of your hands on her butt and your tongue in her mouth forever burned into my corneas.”

  Oh yeah. She was still pissed. He didn’t blame her. “Okay, I get it.” He stopped her with a hand on her arm. “I know I fucked up.”

  She sighed and slumped against the truck. “I don’t want to relive the moment.”

  Crazy, but he couldn’t stop.

  A little joke had become a conversation with potential. Jaycee and Heather had spent a day drinking wine and staining a gazebo on the ranch. By the time he’d arrived, they were both buzzed, laughing, and wanted him to join their home improvement party.

  Their chat had turned to sex. Specifically sex between him and Jaycee and Heather. But talking about a threesome didn’t equate to actually following through. Jaycee had gone to the restroom, Heather had said she was game and kissed him. He’d stupidly responded before finding out if Jaycee was into the possibility. He hadn’t been drunk on alcohol, but the exchange had been intoxicating nonetheless. At that moment, he had wanted the fantasy. Seeing the pain on Jaycee’s face had been the catalyst to his change of mind.

  Because she had demanded it, he gave her time. But now he was home. Ready to show her he’d changed.

  They’d been good together. And not just because of the sex. Which happened to be pretty incredible. Sex he now missed and mind-blowing sex he wanted again. He wanted her back and would do whatever necessary to show her she was all he needed, always had been contrary to what she believed because of that night six weeks ago.

  He glanced at her as she rummaged in the truck bed. “Will you be at the rodeo tonight?” He grabbed the reins from her.

  She furrowed her brows. “Of course.” She slammed Freddie’s tailgate. “We’re doing the Shetland pony Trots for Tots charity again.” She pushed her coppery-hued bangs from her face. “Chase will be there, too.”

  He took a step toward her, and she backed against the side of his truck. “Stop this, Tristan.”

  Her pulse visibly quivered in her neck. Sweat beaded on her brow and trickled long her hairline. He ached for a taste, but her narrowed green eyes sparked with fire. Not with the heat he knew simmered beneath the surface, but with the fiery temper that matched her feisty personality. She was wild, passionate, and extremely erotic.

  Since puberty, she’d starred in every one of his wet dreams. For two years, they’d fulfilled each other’s fantasies. Then six weeks ago, he’d foolishly thought they’d wanted another woman in their bed, a ménage with Heather. God, he’d been a fool.

  He took off his sunglasses and moved closer. She smelled like fresh peaches and country air. He breathed deeply. “I missed you,” he leaned in and whispered.

  Jaycee’s breath came in ragged inhales and breathy exhales. “Good. You deserve to be miserable.”

  “I was.” He parted her thighs with his knee and pressed the stiff ridge of his erection into the heat at the apex of her thighs. “I want to make up.”

  “No, it feels like you want make up sex. However, I’m sure you can find a buckle bunny—or two—to suck your dick.”

  “I don’t want a rodeo tramp. I want you.” He proved it by bending his knees and rubbing against her. She moaned then clamped her teeth into her bottom lip. “Did you miss me?” He rolled his hips, grinding his shaft into her mound.

  “No,” was her clipped reply, but he could feel the sexual tension radiating from her. She gripped his hips, and her head lolled to the side.

  Jaycee was petite against him. The top of her head barely reached his chin. She was feminine curves yet strong. She had an athletic build but the delicate features of a woman. Long golden lashes framed green almond-shaped eyes. Pointed chin, high cheekbones, dainty ears were perfect against her thick, lustrous hair. Like today, she normally wore her mane in a ponytail. She worked on her family’s ranch. Hell, she and Chase shared the responsibility, taking over the mid-sized operation after her parents were killed.

  He’d been there for her then, shared her tears and loved her pain away. Then he’d fucked it up and lost her.

  “Lie to me if you have to.” His lips brushed the flutter of her pulse in her neck. “Tell me you missed us.” His hands braced against the truck, framing her between his outstretched arms.

  She put her hands on his chest. “See, that’s where we’re different. I never pretended with you.” She slid away from him. “We can’t go back to what we were.” She sighed. “Unlike you, I don’t fuck around.”

  He froze and his gut clenched. “Are you seeing someone?”

  She didn’t respond as she made a final check of her truck bed.

  “Jace?”

  “Tristan.”

  “Who?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She opened the passenger door.

  “Bullshit,” he stated, coming around to the driver’s side. “Jaycee, I’m not driving this truck anywhere until you and I talk.” He put his glasses back on, climbed in, and jerked the door closed. “Now, who is he?” Bitterness pooled in his mouth. He didn’t like the idea of another man touching Jaycee. This was what she must have felt seeing him with Heather.

  “I appreciate the offer of a ride. But the only ride I need is to the fairgrounds. My sex life is none of your business.”

  Maybe not, but he was about to make it his business. Tristan took off his hat and tossed it onto the backseat. He leaned into her. “I’m not going away again.”

  “I don’t care.” She met his stare and sucked in a breath. “And I don’t trust you.”

  The words punched him in the gut. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Fuck, Jaycee. I thought we were having fun.” He threaded his fingers with hers. “How was I supposed to know that this time it was just talk?”

  But he had to be honest. At that moment, but only for a moment, he had wanted Heather. Not for anything more than sex. But his cock had been hard to have both the woman he loved and Heather pleasuring him as he proved he could pleasure them both.

  Maybe it was a guy thing. He proved how tough he was when he rode bulls and broncs. But no
thing compared to the adrenaline high of sex. He loved to fuck with the same passion as when he rode. Hard, fast, and wild. But contrary to what Jaycee believed, he’d never fucked around on her…had never considered being with another woman until that afternoon with her and Heather.

  “How can I make it up to you?” He’d beg if he had to.

  “You want to make it up to me?”

  “Tell me what you want?”

  “Your truck.”

  “Huh?”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “I need your truck. Hand over the keys, trust me with your baby, and I’ll return it to you tonight at the rodeo.” She shrugged. “Fred’s dead and Chase has too much to do with the stock. I need wheels.”

  Tristan opened the driver door, walked around the front of the vehicle, and opened her door. He put his hand on her left thigh and spun her around on the leather seat. Her skin was smooth and soft. His cock thickened with desire and swelled into the fly of his jeans. He relished the tortuous heat pooling in his balls and the tingle at the base of his spine. She wanted his truck? Fine. He wanted her.

  “Tristan—”

  He cut her off by slanting his lips over hers. He touched her silken lips with his tongue, silently demanding her surrender to what he knew still boiled between them. A fierce intensity that neither had ever wanted to fight—not until he’d pushed her too far.

  Her lips parted and he slicked past her teeth. Tongue rubbed against tongue. He growled and spread her thighs with his hips. Reaching up, he tugged the elastic, freeing her hair to fall around her shoulders.

  Her fingers clutched his shirt. His abdominals quivered. She moaned and wrapped her legs around his hips. Linking her feet, she dug her heels into his ass and urged him closer. Heat raced through his body. He dropped the keys to the floor mat then grasped her buttocks and lifted her hard against his groin. Her thighs spread wider.