Kept by the Cowboy

by Sasha Gold

  I was eleven, a surly little shit, full of bad intentions. George worked my ass into the ground, putting me into every sport he could from martial arts to baseball to football, and making me do chores on the ranch on the weekend. Emily was even worse, making me take piano lessons and ballroom dancing on top of all the crap I had to do for George. Every night I collapsed into bed, too tired to even remember my name, much less cause trouble.

  I don’t know where I would have ended up if Emily hadn’t been in court that day. I went from a “fuck you” and “up yours” juvenile delinquent, to a “yes ma’am” and “no sir” almost-regular kid. All these years later, I’m equally comfortable in either role. I can use my hands to play Claire de Lune or to render a heavy weight fighter unconscious in seconds.

  Leah stares out the window, avoiding me because of what I did to her. I cupped her ass with my hand today, in front of a bunch of strangers. I’ve bided my time for years, building something to offer her and being on my very best behavior anytime I texted her. Today I manhandled her, pressed her innocent body against my hard-on, showing her what she does to me. It was coarse and dirty, but when I touched her, the world shifted, tilted and narrowed until there was only one thing. The way Leah felt against me.

  I want to reach out to her, but I don’t dare touch her. There’s no one to keep me from her. If she touches me right now, I won’t be able to hold back. It’s raw and animalistic. I know that. I’m aware of the monster inside of me but Leah isn’t and if I have any hope of holding on to her after the fight, I need to shield her from that side of me.

  “Do you want to stop for dinner, Leah?”

  “Do you?”

  “Only if you want to.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “I can wait. There will be something for us to eat at home.”

  “Whatever you like.”

  I snort. “We’re like those fucking chipmunks. After you. No really. After you.”

  She keeps her gaze focused out the window. “I’m not wearing underwear, Riley. I don’t really want to go sit in a restaurant, half-dressed when some photographer might jump out from behind the door. So take me home. I’m not hungry and I don’t feel like any more drama today.”

  “Atta girl. Say what you want. Not what I want to hear.”

  She flips me the bird and I swear to God, my state of semi-arousal goes to full-throttle.

  But when we get home her courage vanishes, and she retreats to her bedroom, shutting the door with a bang. I wander around aimlessly, first in the house and then I go out to the garden. I watch the sun sink behind the horizon and wonder what she’s doing upstairs. I want to hold her again, show her some tenderness and I want to kiss her too.

  The sun’s rays fade. I love this spot. I can see for miles and when the sun goes down the hills turn a deep purple just before the first stars appear overhead. I think about getting her. The house is quiet. It’s just the two of us and I want her back in my arms. The evening gives way to night and I return to the house. It’s utterly silent.

  There’s a tray of sandwiches in the kitchen fridge, and I take one along with a beer. I have tomorrow off from working out, and I can have a beer or so without having to confess to Ivan. After I eat and polish off the beer, I grab another and head to my bedroom and undress.

  I set the bottle down on the marble counter. George used to act like bottled beer was for rich people, and he took a little pride in only drinking the canned stuff. He didn’t drink a lot. One or two a few times a week. After I started fighting, I made sure he had whatever he wanted, but he stuck with the same canned shit. I try to spoil them but it’s hard. At least they let me buy them a house on the beach. George can fish. Emily gardens and cooks. I show up once a month or maybe twice and everyone’s happy.

  I change out of the suit and into jeans and a t-shirt and stroll down the hall to Leah’s room.

  After a knock on the door, I take a swig of the beer.

  She cracks the door. “Yes?”

  “You hungry?”

  “No.” Her voice is muffled. I want to ask her a few other things like…are you wearing underwear? Which, I know, is totally wrong.

  “Want me to bring you something to eat?” I ask.

  She pulls the door open. “I don’t think so, but thanks.”

  Her answering the door was a surprise, a small one, but when she swings the door open I can’t keep from staring. She’s in some sweet little virginal gown and bathrobe. It’s lacy and almost sheer. I have to force myself to keep eye contact.

  “Want me to play the piano for you?” Where that came from I don’t really know.

  “You know how?”

  “I do.”

  “Really?” Her voice is soft, gentle and her lips tilt into a sweet smile.

  Her smile lights up my world. I have to confess that I hated every single moment I played the piano. I complained every time Emily forced me to practice, but suddenly all the torture seems worthwhile.

  “I love the piano,” I tell her. Not true, but for her, I might change my opinion.

  Her jaw drops and she leans a forward just a little and smiles. “I didn’t know that about you.”

  “Let me play something for you.”

  She looks down and flushes. “I’m not really dressed.”

  Perfect. I love that look on her. ‘Not really dressed’ is still way overdressed. “You’re fine.”

  I offer her my hand, and she eyes it suspiciously. After a moment, she puts her hand in mine. In that moment, I feel as though she’s forgiven me a little for what happened today.

  “I don’t want to do that again, Riley.”

  Gritting my teeth, I resist the urge to pull her into my arms and demand to know what the hell that’s supposed to mean. Does she not want me to take her into my arms? Take a picture together? Grab her ass?

  She squeezes my hand. “I don’t want you to touch me in front of people for some make-believe heated photo shoot. If you want me to put on a show for you I will, but not in front of people.”

  “So you’re saying don’t pat your ass in public?”

  “You were doing a lot more than patting it.”

  “All right. Fine. Won’t grab your ass. In public.” I tug her hand and lead her downstairs to the living room. Light burns in the corner, casting the room in soft warmth. She sits on the couch and watches me as I sit at the piano.

  For the next twenty minutes, I play a few classical pieces, Chopin, then Brahms, and finish with a piece from Philip Glass.

  A few moments pass and neither of us say anything. She’s sitting with her legs drawn up and her arms around her knees. Her hair hangs loose past her shoulders. The way she looks, open and vulnerable, makes me want to make everything right for her. Shelter her from every ugly thing in the world. I want to gather her in my arms. Carry her to my room. Forget everything.

  “I know what I want. I want to kiss you,” she says. “Here. In private. I don’t want our first kiss to be a display.”

  I’m on my feet and half-way across the room before she finishes her words. She tries to rise from the couch, but I coax her back down and press her back. I settle beside her, trapping her between me and the back of the couch. I take up the length of the couch but there’s just enough width to accommodate both of us. We’re staring at each other, face to face and she’s biting back a smile.

  “You’re not supposed to seduce me before your fight,” she taunts.

  “We haven’t even kissed, and you’re talking about seduction?”

  She lifts her brows. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Ask me anything.”

  “Do you walk around with a permanent erection?”

  “Ever since I got married.”

  “Oh? Is that uncomfortable?”

  “Very.”

  “Mm.”

  Her questions make me want to reach down and smack her ass which would be one hundred percent a bad idea. I shouldn’t even be touching her. Not only do I have my whole bo
dy against hers but she’s also in a whisper-thin gown.

  “This is what you do to me, Leah. This is what you’ve always done to me.”

  The teasing expression fades from her face and she nods solemnly. “What if I weren’t a Mathews? Would you still want me?”

  Her question catches me off guard. So much of my plan revolved around one-upping Miranda and Dane. I didn’t think about my feelings for Leah. There’s never been a time when I didn’t want Leah. From the first moment I saw her I wanted to make her mine.

  I run my fingers down her jaw. “I would want you no matter who you are.”

  “You hesitated,” she whispers. Her eyes soften.

  The wounded expression on her face pisses me off. I’ve been obsessed with this woman for three years… A thousand days of missing her, worrying about her, not to mention lusting after her.

  “I thought you were going to kiss me. Who’s hesitating now?” I ask.

  She parts her lips and I can tell she’s about to give me some sort of bullshit rebuttal, but I stop her with my kiss. When our lips touch she whimpers and sinks against me. I angle my head to deepen the kiss, stroke the seam of her lips with my tongue, growling with satisfaction when she submits. She tastes as sweet as I always imagined.

  I thread my fingers through her hair. It’s silk. I want to bury my face in the mass of coppery tresses. Her breasts press against my chest stripping my control.

  When she draws back, she lifts her fingers and traces the scars on my face. I’ve never let anyone touch them. I can’t help flinching when her fingers skim over my ugly scars.

  “What happened?” she whispers.

  “My foster mom at the time drove into a tree. She was drunk. I wasn’t strapped in.” I shrug. “Cut my face. Broke my collar bone.”

  She winces and closes her eyes. There are a lot of things I don’t want from Leah and sympathy has got to be on the top of the list.

  I lift her chin to kiss her. “Don’t.”

  “What?”

  “Feel sorry for me.”

  “I don’t feel sorry for you.”

  “Good.”

  “You’re tough.”

  “That’s right.”

  “But even tough guys need someone to care when they get hurt.”

  I’m not sure how to respond to that and I see how a smile ghosts her lips. She likes having the last word. Her hand drifts along my chest and she loops her arm around my neck. The motion leaves her flank exposed and I skim my hands over her. She jerks when I move towards her breast.

  “You can’t get away from me.” I kiss her ear and relish the way she squirms. She’s ticklish. I love that. I can’t believe I have Leah here on the couch and we’re making out like teenagers. Her body is soft and warm next to mine. Her scent is addicting. I want to tear through the gown.

  Skimming my fingers down the front of her gown, I cup her breast. Her nipple is hard and I stroke my thumb across. We’re both breathing hard now. She moans every time I run the pad of my thumb over her nipple.

  Leah is so responsive to my touch. Suddenly I’m possessed with the idea of touching her and making her come. I have to do that. Now. Here.

  I tug her gown up her leg and I feel her shoulders stiffen. The next instant, she’s out of my arms and off the couch. How the hell she got away from me I can’t imagine, but she’s standing behind the couch. A strand of hair falls across her pretty face and she blows it away and smiles. A challenging, satisfied smile, like she’s pleased she got away from me.

  When I rise from the couch she throws up her hands as if to ward me off.

  “Stay away from me, Riley.” Her eyes are bright. Her hair is wild. Her lips are bruised from my kisses.

  I stalk towards her and she backs away, keeping the couch between us. We circle a few times and she snickers because she thinks I can’t get nearer.

  “You were getting just a little handsy for a man who can’t mess around,” she says. Then she laughs because her joke is so fucking amusing to her.

  “I was just kissing my wife,” I growl.

  She waves an index finger in the air. “I think you were planning on something a little more than kissing, Mister.”

  We circle one more time and seeing that this is going nowhere fast, I step directly over the couch. With a shriek, she runs out of the den. I hear her laughter fade as she races across the house. I scrub a hand down my face and roll my shoulders. Does she expect to get away? From me?

  Chapter Nine

  Leah

  I don’t exactly know my way around Riley’s house. It’s about six thousand square feet which is the same size as my house, but I get turned around. The first open door I see is his study and I dart in there. I mentally review the very hot kiss Riley gave me a moment ago. Finally the man kisses me, but he didn’t waste any time moving on to other fun and games. While I wanted his touch everywhere, one of us needed to be the gatekeeper.

  Note to self. Kissing yes. Lying down and kissing…no.

  I wait behind the door. My heart pounds so hard I can hear the whoosh of blood in my ears. I will it to so settle down so I can hear if he’s nearby. Setting my hand on my chest, I take deep breaths and try, desperately, not to start giggling. We’re playing a silly game but it feels good to relax a little and to mess around with Riley. And the kissing. That was pretty amazing too. A small moan escapes my lips. I bite my lip. There is no sound coming from the hallway. None.

  I grit my teeth as I imagine him sauntering off to bed and forgetting about me entirely. He’d do that just to get back at me for running away from him. Edging around the door, I wait and listen. Nothing. I move to the corner and peer down the hallway. A door closes upstairs.

  Well…so much for hide and seek. I feel a little silly. God, I’m a dork, thinking he was going to sneak around the house looking for me. He must think I’m an idiot. I blow out a huff of air. At least I got a kiss. And to hear him play the piano. Either of those things is enough to sort of blow my mind.

  I turn off the light in the library and head upstairs. The grandfather clock in the hallway says it’s eleven o’clock. I need to head to bed. Tomorrow the press is coming to take pictures of Riley working out. I ‘m supposed to be there too, in workout clothes according to Riley, because as a happily married couple we work out together all the time. How adorable.

  I glare at Riley’s closed bedroom door as I go into my room. I flip the light switch but nothing happens. The room is pitch black.

  Shit.

  I step inside, feel my way to the bathroom to turn that light on, but it doesn’t work either and that’s when I know he’s in the room with me. My skin prickles with equal parts terror and arousal. Rooted to the ground I wrack my brain for options. Try to get back to the door? He’s probably there waiting.

  “Riley…?”

  There’s no reply for a moment and then the silence is broken by his soft chuckle. He’s only a foot or so away from me.

  “Boo.”

  “Holy shit,” I say on an exhale. “I sort of hate you right now.”

  “I came to tuck you in.”

  “Bullshit, you were trying to scare me.”

  I swat the air in front of me, trying to smack him, but in the complete darkness, I can’t find him. I’m flailing and if he can see me I’m sure he’s enjoying my helplessness.

  “Don’t start a game you don’t want to finish, baby girl.”

  He must be able to see me perfectly because his hands wrap around my wrists and he hauls me to his chest. My body responds immediately and instead of struggling to escape, I arch my back so my breasts rub against the expanse of his chest.

  “Where were we?” he asks.

  “About to make a big mistake. Maybe. If I let you take me to bed, will you cancel this last fight?”

  He picks me up in his arms and every nerve in my body is alight with need. He’s carrying me to the bed, and I should try to fend off his attentions, but I’ve never been carried by a sexy man who happens to be my husband.
The feeling derails my ability to reason.

  The instant he sets me down he crawls over me. The outline of his massive form takes my breath. If Riley seems big when he’s on his feet, he is gigantic when he crouches over me.

  “You want me?” he asks. His tone is soft, but it’s edged with danger.

  “If we had sex…” I can hardly finish the sentence.

  His hand skims under the hem of my gown and trails up my leg. “Mmm…I’m listening. What about that?”

  “Would you still fight?”

  His hand coasts past my knee and when his rough, calloused hand brushes over the tender skin of my thigh, I can’t resist parting my legs. My body responds to him and I can’t stop myself.

  “You have something you want to trade me?” His tone is gently mocking.

  “I’ll give you anything you want.” The touch of his hand makes my defense crumble. “You’ve got to know that by now.”

  Deftly, he pulls off my panties.

  “I do know that about you.” His voice is a low rumble. Molten. And it connects with my core. I know he wants to touch me there and I want it as badly as he does. I feel slick and warm and I need his caress more than I’ve ever needed anything.

  “You’re mine,” he whispers. “You’ll always be mine.”

  He settles beside me, pulls my wrists over my head and clasps them in one hand. With the other he nudges my thighs further apart. I’m stretched taut. He’s taking control of my body and my thoughts. I’m his. Not just because he swooped in and stole me, but because I’ve always been his. He kisses me again, slowly, leisurely while he strokes my thighs and then traces a fingertip along my sex.

  It’s a light, teasing touch. He dips his finger between my folds.

  “You’re wet baby,” he says softly.

  Writhing beneath his touch, I’m aware of the soft, plaintive sounds coming from my lips. Slowly and gently he teases me while he scatters biting kisses along my neck. He holds my wrists, firmly, pinning them to the bed and I’m helpless.