BuckingHard

by Darah Lace

  More likely Bradi was next on Catie’s list and would be the victim of some matchmaking scheme. She snorted and adjusted her weight. Just what she needed.

  “Will you be still?” Mason leaned forward. “And scoot back. There’s only room in this saddle for one. ”

  Cheeks flaming, Bradi sat up straight and grabbed the cantle again. Moisture pricked her eyelids. It wasn’t the first time he’d rejected her touch, but she couldn’t hold back the irrational anger that instinctively surfaced to cover her embarrassment and hurt. “Geez, sorry. I didn’t mean to be such a burden.”

  “You’re not— I’m just— Hell, let’s just get home.” Mason kicked Rocky into a swift trot.

  Bradi tightened her legs around the horse and her grip on the cantle as Rocky’s stride lengthened into a gallop. Wind whipped her hair from her ponytail and into her eyes, but hell would freeze over before she used him as a shield. That would involve touching him again.

  The ranch house came into view and a minute later Rocky slowed to a trot. The second the horse stopped in front of the barn, Bradi launched herself off his back and headed for the house. She’d have to call her dad to come get her. Her mom was at the beauty shop.

  Before she could take two steps, strong fingers clamped around her arm and swung her around. “Bradi, wait.”

  She tried to squirm free but he latched on to both arms. Her eyes welled up. God, she hated to cry. Tears were a weakness, and she refused to let anyone see her that way, especially Mason. “Don’t worry. I won’t bother you again.”

  Mason backed her up, sandwiching her between Rocky and his tall, hard body. “I’m sorry. It’s just hot outside and I’m not… Shit, are you crying?”

  “Hell, no, I’m not crying.” She wrenched one arm free to rub her face. “My hair blew in my eyes.”

  “Look at me.” He hooked his fingers under her chin to tip her face up. Eyes the color of maple syrup studied her face. She jerked her head to one side and looked away, then trembled as one finger stroked her jaw. “Wind doesn’t make your nose run.”

  His tenderness deflated her anger and brought more tears to her eyes. She sniffed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get all emotional. I have a lot on my mind.”

  “And I’m an ass.”

  Her lower lip trembled as she tried to form a smile. “Won’t argue that.”

  The chuckle she’d hoped for didn’t come, and if possible, his scowl deepened. His thumb grazed the corner of her mouth. “Bradi, I’ve been thinking—”

  Behind him, the sound of wheels on gravel drew their attention. Sun glinted off the windshield of a silver Lexus and Bradi’s heart sank.

  Mason glanced over his shoulder. “Shit.”

  He stepped back as Cal Wilson, gray, weathered and bowlegged, ambled from the barn. Heath Jordan was right on his heels, his youth and agility evident in his cocky swagger. All three men watched the door of the vehicle open and a pair of long, bare legs unfold from the front seat. Deidre Latham stood, tall and sleek, dressed in a strapless turquoise sundress and silver high-heeled sandals. She leaned against the car and raised a slender arm, bracelets sparkling, to brush a lock of hair from her face.

  It was like watching a beer commercial. She had that perfect model look. A look Bradi couldn’t compete with on her best day. She heaved a defeated sigh. “That’s my cue to go.”

  Mason looked down at Bradi and she wanted to crawl under a rock. Compared to Deidre, she probably looked as if she’d just come from under one. “Give me five minutes and we’ll go up to the house and talk.”

  “She’ll want more than five minutes.” Bradi stepped around him. “Can one of you guys give me a ride?”

  Heath dragged his gaze from Deidre and smiled. “I’m headed to town. I can drop you off.”

  Cal shuffled to grab Rocky’s reins. “I’ll take him, boss.”

  Mason looked torn, and if it hadn’t hurt so bad, Bradi might have laughed. But her stomach rolled, her heart pitched and her throat tightened. He took a step in her direction. “I thought you wanted to talk.”

  She glanced from Mason to Deidre and back again. Her eyelids burned as she shook her head. “That’s okay, Mason. I know what I need to do.” She turned away and jogged after Heath. Opening the door to his pickup, she wiped her face to make sure it was dry and jumped in. “Thanks for the ride.”

  “No problem.” He grabbed the keys from the visor and shoved them into the ignition. “Hey, are you going to the party tonight?”

  She shook her head. “Mmm, I don’t think so.”

  “That’s too bad. I thought you might save me a dance.”

  Bradi tilted a feeble smile at Heath then looked out the window. He put the truck in gear, backed up, then shot forward. Mason’s gaze lifted as they approached and Deidre laid a hand on his chest. Except for the irritated expression on his face when they passed, Bradi had to admit they made a beautiful couple.

  Swallowing hard, Bradi pivoted in the seat to face Heath. Nothing like Mason’s brooding dark looks, Heath’s blond charm had stolen many a girl’s heart. Bradi shook her head. “I’m sure your dance card is already full up.”

  “Nah, I always have room for a sweet thing like you.”

  A chuckle bubbled from somewhere inside her, probably bordering on one of those hysterical laughing fits that ended in an emotional breakdown of uncontrolled sobbing. She had to get her mind off Mason before she made a fool of herself. “Are you flirting with me, Heath Jordan?”

  His gaze roamed down her body and back up, pausing at her chest then rising to her face. His eyes seemed alive with surprise. “I think I just might be, Bradi Kincaid.”

  With a glance in the side mirror, she watched the man she loved slowly disappear from sight. He’d made the choice for her and, hard as it was, she had to let him go. She had to move on for real this time. No looking back.

  “So what do you say? You gonna break my heart?”

  Bradi laid her head back against the window and studied Heath’s lean body. He wasn’t as broad in the shoulder as Mason, but he was just as tall and strong. He had good hands, and unless she was mistaken about the bulge behind his fly, a nice package too.

  Perhaps she should go to the party. Flirt a little, dance a lot, and—she looked into Heath’s twinkling eyes—maybe she’d even get laid.

  The first step in getting over Mason Montgomery.

  Chapter Two

  The Lucky Draw was packed and the perfect place to celebrate Clay Talbot and Lindsey Baker’s engagement. The bar was owned by Lindsey’s father, and she’d come home ten months ago to help him run it. She’d also given it a major overhaul.

  “The place looks great.” Bradi linked her arm through Lindsey’s and leaned into her. Lindsey grabbed Clay to keep from being knocked off her barstool. “’Course, I don’t think I ever saw it before. But everyone’s talking about it.”

  By the time Bradi was old enough to gain entrance to the bar, she’d stopped coming home. Not that she would have anyway. She had no desire to watch Mason flirt with other women, knowing they’d end up in his bed and she’d go home to cold sheets.

  But not tonight.

  Damn it, she would not leave this bar without a man to heat up her sheets. Well, not her sheets. She couldn’t very well take him home and screw his brains out with her parents in the next room. Maybe sheets were optional. And who said a bed was necessary?

  Bradi winked and waggled her fingers at Heath as he bent over the pool table to make a shot. Definitely not a silk sheet kind of guy. The bed of his pickup might have to do. A hiccup passed her lips and she giggled.

  Lindsey shouldered Bradi upright and steadied her. “You better slow down there, girlfriend.”

  “I’ve only had,” she counted on her fingers, “one, two…three…”

  Clay chuckled as he scooted closer to Lindsey to hold both women upright. “You’re really knockin’ ’em back.”

  “Just trying to have a good time.” Bradi knew she was making a fool of herself, but
dammit she was having a good time. As long as she stayed on the opposite side of the bar from Mason, she did just fine. And she’d managed so far.

  Ignoring the voice in her head that warned against reckless behavior, she leaned around Lindsey and Clay to grin at Evan McNamara, Clay’s friend from Houston. He was a successful lawyer—or so she’d heard—and looked as if he’d be a good lay, which was all that mattered. “I don’t know you, but you look like you’re a good time.”

  Beer spewed from Lindsey’s mouth and Clay slapped her back.

  Bradi grabbed a handful of napkins off the bar and clumsily patted the front of Lindsey’s dress. “Something I said?”

  Taking the wad of paper from her, Lindsey dabbed at the silk and coughed. “Drink went down the wrong way.”

  The glint of amusement in Clay’s eyes told Bradi different, but she didn’t argue. Probably one of those inside jokes between lovers she’d never understand.

  Shrugging, Bradi had one ass cheek on the stool behind her when she caught sight of Mason’s hot, sexy body heading their way. All thought for anything except escape was sucked from her brain. Jolting back to her feet, she teetered precariously around the happy couple and grabbed hold of Evan’s hand. Tugging him off his perch, she swayed into him. “Care to show me a good time on the dance floor?”

  It was the only place, other than the ladies’ room, Mason wouldn’t venture. He hated to dance. Not that he’d been following her. He just seemed to keep showing up everywhere she went. One of the problems with having the same friends.

  Evan’s blue eyes peered over her shoulder then returned to lock on hers. “I’m better than good, darlin’.” He smiled, lifted their clasped hands above her head, and spun her to face the dance floor. Mason stood a foot away, his beautiful, brooding face dark with disapproval.

  Evan’s hand at her waist nudged her around him. “Excuse us.”

  Mason hesitated then stepped aside, and Bradi passed him without looking up. Her chest hurt and moisture burned her eyes. No. She would not cry. He had no right to disapprove. She had needs just like he did. Just because he didn’t want her…

  Pasting a smile on her face, she stepped onto the floor and into Evan’s arms as the provocative notes of a popular R&B tune filled the air. He pulled her close, one hand holding hers, the other at the small of her back. His warm palm met bare skin, reminding her of the choices she’d made today.

  She wore her best slut dress, a filmy black number with a halter top, a belted waist and a hem that barely reached mid thigh. She’d only worn it once and remembered well the effect it had on men. It and the four-inch, kickass stilettos. God, those had taken a while to get used to after wearing boots from the time she could walk.

  “So who’s the guy?” Evan’s voice rumbled against her ear.

  “What guy?” Bradi tipped her head back to look up at Evan. Blond hair, blue eyes, kissable lips. His body was long, lean and sexy. Definitely hot, and a potential one-night stand if she ever saw one.

  But the flutter in her belly wasn’t there. It hadn’t been there when she danced with Heath either. For that matter, none of the men she’d flirted with tonight did it for her. You can still go through the motions. Scratch the itch. Fill the emptiness.

  “I don’t mind helping make someone jealous,” he looked at her pointedly, “but at least tell me who I’m performing for.”

  Blinking, Bradi stared at him a moment, then snorted. “I’m not trying to make anyone jealous.”

  “Is it Mason?”

  The idea bounced from silly to downright ridiculous. As if it were even possible. “Mason and I are just friends.”

  “He might think so, but that’s not how you look at him.”

  Damn, was she that obvious? If Evan had figured out her secret after only a few hours, everyone in the bar had to know. For that matter, everyone in town. Which would mean Mason… Was that why he’d been avoiding her? He knew and didn’t want hurt her feelings?

  She stumbled. “Oh god.”

  “Are you okay? Let’s go sit—”

  “No, I’m fine.” I’m not fine. I’ll never be fine again. How would she ever face him?

  “Hang on.” Evan steered her to the middle of the floor and slowed their pace to a near standstill. The hand holding hers let go and he wrapped both arms around her, drawing her closer. “Breathe.”

  She slumped against him, accepting his support and the comfort of his warmth. “How can I be so pathetic?”

  One hand skimmed up her back to her shoulders and his fingers sifted through her hair, massaging her neck. “Love is never pathetic.”

  “Sure feels like it.”

  The hand at the base of her spine tightened and he wedged a knee between hers until she practically rode his thigh. Through the thin barrier of their clothing, her nipples poked his chest. It occurred to her that she should be panting. To anyone looking on, they were practically humping on the dance floor. Her panties were a tad moist, a natural reaction to physical stimulation, but there was no spark. It was all an act. One she should be grateful for if it fooled Mason into thinking she wasn’t as hung up on him as he might think.

  Bradi wrapped her arms around Evan’s neck and lifted her mouth to his ear. “You know, you’re pretty good at this performing.”

  He laughed and nuzzled her neck. “Have you told him how you feel?”

  “No.” Today was the closest she’d ever come and that was a mistake. A moot point if he already knew. Oh god.

  “Some men can’t see what’s right in front of them and need a little help.”

  A little help? How much help did he need? She wasn’t fucking invisible. “Yeah, well, I’ve been in front of him long enough.”

  Evan rolled his hips with a long note from the saxophone and Bradi almost stumbled again. If the hard ridge behind the fly of his black slacks wasn’t a figment of her imagination, he wasn’t pretending near as much as she assumed he was. Of course, his arousal could be the same as hers, a natural physical reaction.

  Flirt, dance and get laid. Flirt, dance and get laid. Flirt dance and—go for it, Bradi.

  “You know what?” Hands clasped behind Evan’s neck, she tilted her upper body away from him. “I made a decision today. A big one. Tonight is about moving on.” Her fingers delved into the hair above his collar as she licked her lips. “Wanna be my first step to moving on?”

  “A tempting offer.” His gaze dropped to her mouth as the music stopped. “A very tempting offer. But while I don’t mind performing on the dance floor, that doesn’t extend to the bedroom.” He grinned. “At least not as a stepping stone.”

  “Well, if you’re sure…” She raised on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “I guess I’ll be moving on.”

  Bradi let him guide her off the dance floor. Mason was still at the bar with Clay and Lindsey, a sour look on his face. Her feet stalled and she tugged on Evan’s arm. "Wait. Evan, I…” From the corner of her eyes she saw Mason push away from the bar and take a step in their direction. Shit. She focused on Evan. “Thanks for the dance and the talk.”

  “No problem.” He traced a finger along her jaw, intense blue eyes locked on hers. “Be careful moving on, Bradi. It might get you nowhere.”

  A tremor shook her. Not so much from his touch but his words. The odds of ending up in worse emotional turmoil than she was now ranked up there with Dahlia pulling a dump and run in the south pasture.

  “We need to talk.” Mason’s bourbon-rich voice broke into her thoughts and nixed any hesitation to see her plan through. His fingers grasped her elbow.

  She tore her gaze from Evan’s and smiled at Mason, despite the glare he shot Evan. Her stomach pitched and her mouth went dry. She extracted her arm from his grip and started walking backward. “Sure, but I’ll catch up with you later. I promised this dance to Heath.”

  Before he could stop her, she darted through the tables, heart pounding, mind reeling, and on an obvious collision course with self-destruction, but too terrified to put on the brakes
. If she stopped, she’d have to admit the truth. There was no getting over Mason.

  “Hey, darlin’. Where you been?” Heath set aside the pool stick as she neared, then laid an arm across her shoulders.

  “Dancing up a sweat.” Bradi wound an arm around his waist and plucked the beer from his hand. She tipped it back and swallowed several gulps of false courage.

  “You too tired to dance with me?”

  Handing the bottle back, she snatched his hat from his head, settled it on hers and grinned. “Just getting warmed up.”

  As he herded her through the crowd, Bradi silently repeated her new mantra. Flirt, dance and get laid. Flirt, dance and get laid. Hell, why not add to it?

  Flirt, dance, get laid and have another drink.

  And not necessarily in that order.

  If he ever doubted Bradi thought of sex, Mason knew for sure now.

  Downing the last of his beer, he lowered the longneck bottle to the table without taking his eyes off the dance floor and the woman driving him insane. He’d never seen this side of her. Flirting, laughing, all that bumping and grinding…and holy hell, she had on a goddamn dress—what there was of it.

  His gaze drifted over her for the hundredth time since he’d walked into the bar. He almost hadn’t recognized her. With her body draped in a scrap of black silk, she reminded him of a yearling—willowy and sleek, all legs and sweet curves. Her long hair, loose around her shoulders, seemed blonder somehow and made her look soft and feminine. Hot and sexy.

  No denying she turned him on—him and every other man in the bar. Two in particular were sniffing around a little too much for his liking. But she’d also managed to scare the hell out of him.

  Not only was she making it more difficult for him to remember they were just friends, but her behavior was reckless, out of control. Heath was an okay guy, but he wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of her. Bradi wasn’t a drinker and she’d been tossing them back all night. Something else he’d never seen her do.